Harry Potter and the Last Crusade
by Sivad Ttarp
Summary: When Hermione Granger is abducted, Harry's mission to save her is complicated by an old flame, a formor professor, a new dark wizard threat and a quest for the fabled cup of christ. My third hp sequel, read the others too .
1. Chapter 1: The Cross

Chapter one: the cross

It was a week since Harry Potter had died.

The prophecy had been fulfilled, and he had been resurrected to fulfill his final purpose. He had done so, and now the lord Voldemort had been destroyed, never again to threaten the wizarding world. Some of the dark lord's shadows still existed, in the form of the few hundred Death Eaters unaccounted for, neither among the dead or imprisoned, but Voldemort had still been vanquished, and that was what was important.

And now Harry wasn't sure what to do with his life.

Much of it had been occupied with school, but now he was of age, and the prospect of returning to Hogwarts did not appeal to him. The castle simply held to many memories. Though he disliked admitting it, the war against Voldemort had been the other main part of his life. And now it was over. Harry had entertained thoughts about becoming an auror. It seemed he was as qualified as anyone, probably more so.

"Harry Potter."

It took Harry a few moments to realize that someone had spoken. He was standing in a remote corner of the grounds, his back against a tree. He was alone. It was late morning, and the still rising sun was reflected, multi-faceted, on the surface of the lake. It was warm, and he felt that he might have drifted off for a moment.

"Harry Potter," this time the voice was definite and real. Harry turned slowly, feeling for his wand. Surprisingly, it was a centaur. The centaurs had left their forest to join the battle against the Death Eaters, but they had returned quickly afterward, refusing to join the following celebrations. Harry was surprised that one would have left the forest on his own, apparently looking for him.

It was a younger centaur Harry did not recognize. He carried no weapons, and looked very worried, as if he shouldn't have been there. His horse potion was a light golden brown; the same color as his hair, and well built, while his torso was less muscled than most centaurs. His hair was long and wavy and he had a short beard.

"That would be me," said Harry, evenly.

"There are enemies in the forest," said the centaur. "Digging up that which has long since been hidden. You must stop them, Harry Potter. I will take you to them."

"Wait, you mean…"

"You must climb on my back. It will be quickest."

Harry knew that centaurs were, as a rule, very proud. To be asked for help by one, let alone offered a ride, was very rare indeed. Whatever was happening, it must have been a problem.

"Well, let's go," he said.

Harry had not ridden a centaur since he was eleven. It was nothing like flying, while on a broomstick, you were very much in charge. On a centaur, the centaur was completely dominant; Harry had no control, and was sure what would happen had he tried to seize any.

It was certainly fast. When the centaur came to a halt, Harry found himself in a part of the forest he had never been to before. The trees were sparser here, allowing light to penetrate, and the sense of darkness was lessened.

Before him was a dome of earth, a burial mound, he realized. Muffled noises came from inside, Harry looked questioningly at the centaur, whose name was Wrok.

"They are inside," said Wrok. "Disturbing the treasures of centaurs, stop them, Harry Potter."

Harry wished he had his invisibility cloak with him. But he didn't, so, steeling himself, he walked slowly up to the burial mound, and dropped through the hole at its peak.

Harry found himself on a ledge of roof stone, overlooking a deep bowl shaped room. There were five men below; none of them had noticed him.

The fifth was watching the other four dig, relocating the earth with their wands. He was sweating, wiping his bald forehead with a handkerchief. Harry didn't blame him; it was stifling inside the mound. He wore white Panama hat, as well as a white linen suit beneath a gray trench coat. It was easy to tell that the other men were working for him.

"Have you found anything?" he asked the leader of the men. Harry could tell this too; from they way the other laborers regarded him. He hadn't shaved for a time, brown stubble covered his cheeks, he wore boots, dirty jeans, and a faded leather jacket over a plain gray t-shirt. His personality was completed by the worn fedora atop his head.

"No," he answered bluntly.

"Than keep digging, what do you think I pay you for?"

"I've got something!" shouted one of the others. He was the youngest, only nineteen or twenty. The others clustered around, one was middle-aged, with a graying mustache, the other had lank dark hair and wore spectacles.

The young man produced his find. Harry gasped. Fedora glanced in his direction, a bemused look on his face, before turning back to the group.

It was a cross, made of gold and inset with rubies, about a foot long. The surface was inlaid with runes and pictures. It seemed to glow.

"Ah," said the man in the white suit. "The cross of Coronado. Given to him by Cortez in 1520. I have been searching for this all my life. Heaven knows how it came to be here. In a centaur's burial ground behind a school of magic."

Harry knew that he had to do something. He hardly knew a thing about these men, but he doubted that they should be here, or that the cross belonged to them.

And so, he did the first thing that came into his mind.

_"Accio Cross!"_

The cross flew from the man's grip. Harry caught it, no longer trying to stay out of view. Two of the men swore, all of them reached for their wands.

Harry pulled himself out of the burial mound, and sprinted to Wrok, vaulting onto the centaur back. Wrok saw the cross in Harry's grip, and the men spilling out of the mound, mounting brooms.

"Run," Harry whispered. And the centaur began to gallop.

A few spells sped past. But Harry, his arms wound tightly around Wrok's neck, was unable to return fire.

Brooms are, as rule, faster than centaurs, but this does not apply when navigating the forest. The trees began to thin, as they neared the edges of the forest. Harry looked back to see that all four of the diggers were following them, the man in the white suit nowhere to be seen.

Ahead, Harry glimpsed a plume of smoke stretching into the air. The Hogwarts express, returning to Hogsmeade station. Harry grinned.

"Make for the train," He shouted over the rushing wind. They were out of the forest know, Wrok hastened his pace, running for all he was worth. But the brooms began to gain.

As Wrok came parallel with the train, Harry saw Fedora remove his wand from his jacket, taking careful aim.

A few things happened very quickly. Fedora shouted something, the sound torn away by the wind. Harry jumped. A jet of light blasted Wrok of his hooves, the centaur was thrown into the side of the train. He rolled away unconscious.

Harry's fingers caught hold of a ladder built into the side of the train. He scrambled onto the roof of the train car. The air tore at him, ready to pull him off. Harry shoved the cross through his belt.

He watched the bespectacled man touch down ahead of him. Turning, Harry leapt. His jump carried him onto the next train car. He landed running; a spell whistled past his ear, he ducked.

Another man, the one with the mustache, appeared, facing him, two train cars away. He pulled out his wand, and sent a stunning spell in Harry's direction. Harry pulled out his own wand, but instead of uttering the counter-charm, he threw himself forward, and ducked down into the recess between the train cars.

Harry stumbled, watching the tracks blur past below. He grabbed the door and, wrenching it open, fell into the train car.

He ducked into a nearby compartment, just as the far door was blasted of its hinges. The mustached man entered the car, slowly making his way toward Harry.

Harry could have easily attacked, but instead he held his breath, pressing his back against the cool glass of the window. The cross was pressing into his side uncomfortably. Just as he was about to adjust it, the window shattered, sprinkling him with a fine powder of broken glass.

The bespectacled man swung in through the window, ramming his shoulder into Harry. Harry was sent reeling out into the corridor. Without thinking, Harry raised his wand and shouted:

"_Bombardre!"_

The spell hit the middle-aged man in the chest, hurling him to the end of the train car. The other man fired a curse at Harry, but Harry dodged to the side and skipped out the door. Pulling the door of the train car shut, he tapped the handle with his wand, sealing it closed.

Harry climbed back onto the roof of the train. A spell hit him in the back, between the shoulder blades, and he fell, his legs stuck together. Making sure the cross was still safe, he quickly whispered the counter-curse, ending the leg-locker jinx. But by then the young man was upon him, grabbing for the cross. Harry rolled to the side, out of reach.

Harry grabbed the young man's wrist, forcing his wand away. His opponent grabbed his wand also, but Harry twisted to the side, and kneed the man in the stomach. The young man tripped and fell back over the side of the car, but didn't go over, catching himself with his fingers.

A spell sped toward him, but Harry it knocked out of the way with a shield charm. Behind, the two men had escaped from the car Harry had sealed them in. Harry noticed that the middle-aged man wasn't quite on balance, and so he focused his attack. The jet of red light hit the mustached man in the shoulder, spinning him around. The man tumbled off the train.

The man with the glasses proved more of a challenge. Ahead, the train passed under a few long branches. Harry grabbed on, and was lifted into the air as the train speed away beneath him. He kicked out, catching the man in the chest, the bespectacled man was knocked back, and fell between the train cars.

Harry landed in a crouch on the last car.

"Well I'll be damned," said Fedora. "Harry Potter." His wand was pointing between Harry's eyes. "You'll give me the cross now. And I can tell the lads I've met you."

"It's not yours," said Harry, "It belongs to the Centaurs."

"Not anymore. So you can just hand it over and I might not kill you."

Harry made a grab for Fedora's wand, but the man jerked away. He grabbed Harry's collar, wrenching him off his feet. He made for the cross, but Harry knocked his hand away, and Fedora dropped him. Harry fell, and the roof below him gave way.

Harry fell through the skylight in a rain of glass. He found himself in a baggage car, now empty, save for a few neglected trunks in the corner. He made for them.

A moment later, Fedora entered through the door, he strode across the room to where he knew Harry must have been hiding. He blasted the trunks out of the way, and swore, finding nothing but dust. He ran to the window.

Fedora saw a tall bespectacled boy sprinting away along the train tracks, the cross of Coronado in his grip.

Two hours later, Harry sat in the headmistress's office back at Hogwarts. He had come straight there, given the cross to Minerva McGonagoll and explained what had happened. She had promised to return to him, and had gone to speak to the man in the white linen suit, who had been discovered on the grounds.

Though McGonagoll had recently taken over, the headmistress's office was still decorated in the style of its previous owner, the late Severous Snape. The walls still held the portraits of the previous headmasters, who were talking earnestly among themselves, but instead of the eccentric whizzing devices, it held selves filled with weird and disturbing specimens in jars, floating immersed in luminous green liquid.

"Mr. Potter."

"What. Oh, yes professor," Harry had not noticed McGonagoll enter the room.

"Well, I'm sorry"

"I don't understand professor."

"He had all the necessary papers, don't ask me how, but that dig was completely authorized. He promises not to press charges of assault and theft, mostly because you're who you are, honestly."

"You gave back the cross."

"I had too. Still, I can understand what you thought, and why you did what you did. You still preformed admirably, if that makes things any better. To tell you the truth, I'm surprised you haven't made a mistake like this before. You may go."

"Thank you professor." As Harry left, he felt himself feeling a bit disappointed. He had thought he was doing the right thing. But there was something deeper. After Voldemort, four washed-out excavators hadn't frightened him at all.

And, deep down, he had enjoyed himself. It was the first thing over the last few days that actually felt right. That and Ginny.


	2. Chapter 2: Off The Coast Of Ireland

Chapter two: off the coast of Ireland

Five years later…

Harry Potter was increasingly glad that he had cast a rain-repelling charm on his glasses. He had added to that an anti-breaking spell, and a little sticking charm that kept them on his face. If there was one thing that Harry had discovered through his various exploits, it was better to see than not.

All Harry saw that moment was the fist that slammed into his jaw, jerking his head backward. He would have fallen over backward, had two bulky men on either side not held him up, while the third had hit him.

Though Harry could see, he was still soaked by the pouring rain. The deck of the cargo ship rocked beneath him, the waves beating against it. With the moon hidden by dark clouds, the only light came from the yellow searchlight placed on the cargo ships deck.

During my life, Harry thought, I've had times where I've thought things through better.

_"Crucio!"_

The unforgivable curse was nothing new to Harry. But that didn't make the pain any better. Just more familiar.

When Harry's vision cleared, he saw that the sailor who had been beating him had stepped aside to show another figure. One Harry recognized. Even after six years, the man still wore a white linen suit under a gray trench coat, and a panama hat kept the rain of his baldhead.

Harry managed to smile, though there was no humor in it. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"Mr. Potter," sighed the man in the linen suit. "A shame we could have not met under better circumstances. I owe my life to you, we all do. Yet this is the second time I have found you trying to relieve me of my property, and it cannot be excused."

The man drew the Cross of Coronado from his pocket, holding it up to catch the light. "It is a very fine piece indeed, but why is it so important to you."

"It's just not yours, that's all," said Harry.

"But legally, that cannot be verified. It has come into my possession, and it will stay there. I tire of this conversation," the man in the linen suit said to the sailor beside him. "Throw him overboard." He strode away, still carrying the Cross in his right hand.

The two sailors dragged Harry toward the railing, his feet dragged through the water covering the deck. The third sailor had reached the railing, and turned to face them, water ran down his face, twisted into a cruel smile. But Harry looked past him, at the massive wave rolling directly toward them, and steeled himself.

The wave hit, tipping the boat to an uncomfortable angle. Just as the man in the linen suit was reaching the door below decks, he stumbled away and fell, his head going below water. Water sloshed over the deck and as Harry was already soaked, it made no difference to him. The men holding him, however, focused on throwing the auror overboard, were taken by surprise, and lost their balance.

Harry kicked out, hitting the third sailor in the chest, sending the man sprawling backward, and over the railing, into the ocean.

Another, smaller wave slammed into the cargo ship. Harry twisted free of one of the men holding him. He drove his elbow into the other's stomach, and shoved him away. The other had fallen, he stumbled toward Harry through the water, but Harry kicked him in the face, sending him spinning away.

Harry reached into the pocket of one of his now unconscious captors, and slid out the man's wand. Now armed, he sprinted across the deck. This was harder than it may have been, due to the two feet of water covering it.

_"Expeliarmus!" _

The spell hit the man in the linen suit in the back. He fell foreword, slamming into a cargo container, one of the few that had not been swept away. The Cross of Coronado was torn from his grip, and plopped into the water, ten yards from Harry.

Harry ran toward it, but he was shoved away as a sailor slammed into him. Harry shoved the sailor away, and felled another with a stunning spell.

The water swept the Cross away, across the deck. Harry snatched it just as it was about to be washed over the side. He spun, and punched a sailor with the cross in his grip, the man spun away. Another charged him, but Harry swung his wand, and the man was thrown off the ship.

A jet of light hit Harry's right arm. It felt as though it had caught on fire, Harry's stolen wand fell from his grip, and was washed away.

Harry looked across the deck, and caught the gaze of the man in the linen suit, whose wand was held at the ready. They stared into each other's eyes. The moment was lost as another wave drove into the vessel. Between them, Harry saw several barrels of fuel break free from their moorings. One rolled across the deck, toward a giant container. Harry read the containers label, and time seemed to slow.

**TNT handle with care.**

The barrel hit, and Harry jumped. As his momentum carried him over the side of the boat, the dynamite exploded. The cargo ship was ripped in half. Harry plunged under water, behind him he saw the flash of flame flicker and die.

Harry kicked toward the surface. He broke free of the cold water, taking in huge gulps of air. The Cross of Coronado was still safely in his grip. As he trod water against the storm, a panama hat drifted past.

The hat was followed by one of the ships life preservers. Harry wrapped his arms around it, hardly believing his luck. Exhausted as he was, he began to kick his legs against the storm.

It was going to be a long swim home.


	3. Chapter 3: The Grail Legend

Chapter three: the Grail legend

"A fine piece of workmanship, Mr. Potter, one we've been searching for, for some time. Well done. I must suggest giving you a bonus. But for now, you will have to settle for three weeks vacation."

"I think I could do that," said Harry.

After the cargo ship had blown up, two days previously, Harry had drifted in the storm, barely alive. He had been rescued by a fishing vessel, and made his way back to England by apperation. He had stopped at home briefly, to get cleaned up, and talk with Ginny, before going to the Ministry to present them with the recovered cross.

Harry left the office of the head of the auror office, feeling pleasant. He had handed over the cross, and had nothing before him for the next few days but peace and quiet. It wasn't that Harry didn't like being an Auror, he did, but it was always nice to go a short time without people trying to kill you.

As Harry strode through the main office, he stopped briefly at his own cubicle, to see if there was anything he shouldn't leave there. It was all in order, as he had left it, accept for one thing. There was a small square package tied with up with twine, wrapped in brown paper. One of my favorite things, Harry thought wryly. It was addressed to him in neat slanted handwriting. As for where it had come from. As for a return address, it said only: _Venice, Italy. _This surprised Harry, he had never been to Venice, Italy, and doubted that he knew anyone there. Harry suppressed the urge to tear open the package right there, and tucked it into his pocket. He then promptly forgot about it.

Harry took the elevator up to the atrium. He felt rather like taking the visitors entrance, and then walking home. He lived only a few blocks away, in a block of apartments reserved for the use of Ministry employees. He had lived there since beginning Auror training, at least he had been allowed a bigger apartment after he had been married, primarily because Ginny had also began to work for the Ministry, in the regulation of magical creatures office, under Rubius Hagrid, the former groundskeeper at Hogwarts, a half-giant, and one of Harry's best friends.

"Hey, Harry, I haven't seen you around for a while." A tall, round-faced young man, with dark hair, dressed appropriately for his office in dress pants and a white oxford shirt, fell into step with Harry, breaking away from the line of people waiting to use the fireplaces, (disappearing with floo powder, in a flash of green flame).

"Neville," said Harry, smiling, shaking his friends hand. Though they worked in the same building, he hardly ever saw Neville Longbottom. "How go things in the department of international magical cooperation?"

"Well enough. Could be better though. China is mad at us, no idea why, North Korea is mad at everyone, and the bloody Americans won't keep to themselves."

"Nothing new then." Harry entered another elevator, and Neville slipped in after him.

"How about you?" Neville asked. "The auror office treating you well?"

"Well enough."

"Anything I should know about."

Harry very much wanted to say: yes, I saved the world twice. First from escaped Death Eaters, who dug up the Ark of the Covenant, and were then destroyed by it. Then I got stranded in India, and saved a bunch of children from a life of slavery in the mines of a satanic cult who wanted to use sacred rocks to conquer the world.

Instead he just said "No, just the usual." That wasn't too far from the truth.

The elevator doors slid open, and the two wizards exited what appeared to be a normal phone booth, sitting abandoned in an alley. It represented something very rare. An idea borrowed from both muggles and Americans.

"Why leaving so early?" asked Neville.

"I got some time off."

"So did I! We should do something."

"Maybe," Harry shrugged, no longer listening to Neville.

A black car had pulled up in front of them, blocking the exit of the alley. Its windows were tinted, but the passenger's was rolled down, revealing a normal looking man, wearing a suit.

"You Potter?" asked the man, even though the lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead made it somewhat obvious.

"Who wants to know?" asked Harry.

"A friend. Get in the back. Someone wants to talk to you."

Though it seemed unwise, Harry slipped into the car's back seat, curious enough to put caution aside. He was surprised, when Neville followed him.

The car was very nice. Harry had no idea what make it was; he didn't care much about brands of muggle transportation. What he was able to tell was that the seat was consisted of rich black leather. The engine hummed softly, and the drive was smooth. Though the drivers followed all laws of the road, Harry could feel how powerful the car was.

They drove in silence for twenty minutes, deep into the residential district of London. They car turned off the road, moving down a ramp below a huge and, Harry noted, expensive, apartment building. The underground parking was mostly full, but there was a reserved spot directly in front of the elevators.

Harry and Neville were lead into the elevator. Both of the men who had been in the front of the car wore dark suits. They stood on either side of them. Harry felt they wouldn't take kindly to him attempting to leave.

They changed elevators upon reaching the lobby. One of their escorts pressed the button for the top floor. The elevator ride was smooth; the elevator itself was mirrored within, and shockingly clean.

When the doors slid open, Harry and Neville stepped out into a hallway with only four doors, albeit far apart. They were ushered to the closest, and through it, into a very fancy and spacious apartment. The two men led them into a study, and left, shutting the door behind him.

"Nice place, though the invitation was a bit dodgy," said Neville.

"Right," Harry murmured, looking around. The study would have been cluttered, had everything not been so beautifully arranged. The desk had a transparent glass surface, behind it a large armchair. There was a black wood table in the corner, a sheet over it. A wide picture window adorned the far wall, but the blinds were drawn across it, plunging the room into twilight. Shelves ran along the walls. They were mostly filled with thick books. Harry surveyed their titles, to find that most were about potions.

One of the shelves, however, was filled with photographs. Harry saw a younger version of himself staring out from the center. A picture taken during his sixth year at Hogwarts, many of the shelves occupants he recognized by reputation only. He took special interest in the picture of his mother, Lily, as a girl, and of Regulas Black, his late godfather's brother, who he now knew had died trying to destroy one of Lord Voldemort's horcruxes. The very same horcrux that Harry had nearly lost his life trying to retrieve. It was then he had had his first experience with Inferi. The thought of the animated corpses made him shudder, and he moved on.

"I never really liked this stuff," said Neville from the desk, indicating a slim box, half filled with yellow crystals.

"Crystallized pineapple," Harry whispered. Things began to fall into place in his mind. The pineapple, the potion books, the photographs.

"Harry, my boy! How wonderful to see you again. An auror now, aren't you, and married. Wonderful girl, that Ginny Weasley, shame I couldn't make it. And Mr. Longbottom, I wasn't expecting you here, lad."

The man who entered the room hadn't aged a bit since Harry had last seen him some five years previously, though he had lost a little weight. His mustache was just as gray, and he wore a tweed suit.

"Professor Slughorn," said Harry and Neville, the latter more surprised.

"No need to call me professor, gentlemen. I'm retired, you know. Just Horace will be fine," said Slughorn. "Can I offer you a drink?" Neville shook his head.

"Why the car?" asked Harry, his patience with his former teacher waning. "You'd think this was some bad muggle gangster movie."

"Secrecy, my boy. You never know who could be watching. As for why I have brought you here, I have a favor I would like you to do for me. But, before that, a touch of history."

Slughorn moved over to the table. He swept the sheet away, revealing a worn stone tablet, the lower third of it missing. There was a Christian cross engraved in it, and below that, writing Harry didn't recognize.

"Sandstone, Latin text, mid-twelfth century, we presume. It was unearthed in the mountain region of Ankara."

"What does it say?" asked Neville.

"We believe it says this," answered Slughorn. "Who drinks the water I shall give him, speaks the Lord, will have a spring within him welling up for eternal life."

Harry raised an eyebrow, but Slughorn continued. "Let them journey to the holy mountain in the place where it dwells. Across the desert and through the mountain to the Canyon of the Crescent Moon, to the temple where-"

Slughorn looked up, catching Harry's eye. "Where the cup that holds the blood of Jesus Christ resides forever."

"The Holy Grail," Neville breathed.

"The very same," answered Slughorn. "The cup Christ drank out of at the last supper, the cup that later caught the blood that poured from him as he hung on the cross. The cup entrusted to Joseph of Arimathaea, and later searched for by King Arthur."

"Until he got arrested," said Neville.

"Even if the Holy Grail is real, which I'm not convinced," said Harry, "will drinking from it really give you eternal life? It's an old man's dream."

"Every man's dream, and one I'd like to wake up to. I'm not as young as I used to be, you know."

"Still, it's to vague," said Harry. "Deserts and mountains, but no set location."

"Nevertheless, a search is underway, one I am pleased to be part of," said Slughorn. "Let me tell you another legend. The Grail disappeared, after Joseph received it, and was missing for a thousand years. But then it was discovered again be three brothers, knights of the crusade."

"I've heard about this," said Neville. "Two of the brothers walked out of the desert over a hundred years later, going home to France. One died along the way, but the other, eldest brother, reached France, before dying of extreme old age. Before he died, he supposedly passed his story on to a Franciscan friar."

"Not supposedly," said Slughorn. He tapped on of the glass cases lining the walls. Inside a thick leather-bound book sat open. The pages were a thick faded parchment, and the script was ornate and handwritten. "The book tells the knight's story, but not the Grail's location. However, the Knight spoke of two markers, left to show the way to the Grail. We believe this to be one of them, if only we had the whole thing."

"So where do I come in?" asked Harry.

"Very soon. Before we find the Grail, we must find the second marker, with its location. We believe it to be in the tomb of the other brother, the one who died on they way to France. We have narrowed down its location to Venice, Italy. However, we have met with some difficulties. For one, the auror in charge of the mission's security has been abducted. We wish you to step in where she left of."

"I think you have the wrong person," Harry answered, coolly, "I'm no archeologist."

"Of course you aren't. We have someone else working on that. You will simply keep her safe along the way. You see, it will be dangerous. There are parties who want the Grail to remain hidden, and others who want it for their own gain. Trust no one."

"What if I say no."

"I doubt you will. I can book you passage very easily, you could meet our woman in Venice by tomorrow night."

"I don't think so," said Harry, firmly. "I had my dealings with mythical artifacts, and none of them were fun. I'm supposed to be on vacation, not traveling to Italy and to protect some girl I've never heard of, and search for a cup that doesn't even exist. Let's go Neville," Harry went to the door.

"Give it some thought, please," entreated Slughorn. There is a detail I forgot to mention. The young woman who went missing, I think she was a friend of yours. A miss Hermoine Granger."

An hour later, Harry sat across from Neville in a muggle fast food restaurant, a few blocks away from the apartment building. Ginny would be expecting him home soon, but Harry didn't feel like going home yet. He had had a little bit of muggle money in his pocket. Enough to buy himself a coffee to grow cold, untouched, on the plastic table before him.

"So what do you think," asked Neville.

"I think there's no way the Chudley Cannons will make it into the finals this year, not without that one chaser."

"Which one, there are three? And I wasn't talking about that. I mean Slughorn's favor, the Holy Grail, fortune and glory stuff." Neville explained.

"I'm trying not to," sighed Harry. "Slughorn is a good man, if a bit odd, and if Hermione's in trouble, I want to help her, of course. But the last time I got involved with a biblical legend it nearly got me killed. Again."

Neville shrugged, "You'd get over. Besides, I've heard Venice is amazing."

"Venice! I just remembered," Harry pulled the unopened package from his jacket, double-checking the return address. Now that he had Hermoine in mind, the neat handwriting seemed familiar. He tore open the paper, to find a slim notebook, bound in rich read leather. It fell open to reveal a sketch of an old painting. In the painting, a knight with a cross on his shield was holding a glowing cup over his head. He was walking confidently through thin air, while his enemies plunged to their deaths beneath.

Harry flipped through more pages. Most held sketches or cutouts from books and newspapers, while some were just handwriting, all in Hermoine's neat legible hand. A note fell out of the book. Neville picked it up and handed it to Harry. "It's for you."

_Harry _

_ If I'm right, something terrible is about to happen to me. Whatever takes place, keep this diary safe. Within is almost everything needed to find the Holy Grail. There are those who would use the Grail for evil, and must not have this information. Even if you decide to use this diary yourself, keep it secret, keep it safe. _

_ Hermoine_

Harry got up slowly, tucking the Grail diary into his pocket again. "Let's go back to Slughorn. Tell him to book passage, or whatever he said."

Neville nodded, "Tell him we'll take two."


	4. Chapter 4: X Marks The Spot

Chapter four: X marks the spot

Harry told Ginny everything that night, as well as showing her the grail diary. He had learned that with her the best course of action was to divulge as much information as possible. She wasn't happy about him going to Venice to find the grail and, Harry hoped, find Hermoine, but she understood. And so, true to Slughorn's word, Harry and Neville stepped of a plane in Venice the next afternoon.

Neville had never flown before, so Harry was interested to see his reaction. The first time he had flown with Ginny, she had been fascinated. Neville, however, viewed the whole affair with a bored disinterest. "These muggles," he explained. "All of them right nutters, but at least they try."

Harry had never been to Venice, but he heard about it. The actual city did not disappoint, there were all the stereotypes Harry had read about. Canals, frequented by long, low gondolas, steered with poles by mustached men who sang in Italian. There were hundreds of little cafes and shops; the buildings were ornate, beautiful, cramped, and ancient.

Harry and Neville joined the swarm of tourists, spilling out into the historic city. It was then that Harry realized he had no idea where Slughorn's promised housing was.

"So where they going to pick us up or something?" asked Neville, as they passed the muggles flocking onto waiting gondolas, or into various petite shops lining the surrounding buildings.

"Mr. Potter," someone called to Harry, as the crowd carried him and Neville along. Their voice struck him as familiar, and he looked to its source. Harry knew immediately that this was who he was supposed to protect. And had he not been so surprised, he would have turned around and gotten right back on the plane.

The woman was leaning against the stone of one of the nearby buildings, watching the muggles slip past with a bemused expression. She was about Harry's age, and very attractive. Her features were Asian, her eyes dark. Straight jet-black hair fell down the small of her back. The woman was dressed formally, yet very informal at the same; she wore a dark blue oxford shirt, untucked, with the top two buttons undone, revealing a black undershirt underneath. Her flat shoes and skirt were both black. As she leaned against the plaster wall, Harry saw she was favoring one leg.

It had been five years since the battle of Hogwarts, but Cho Chang had changed very little.

She pushed herself of the wall, and walked through the crowd toward them, Harry realized she was limping slightly, dragging her left leg. That was new.

Harry and Cho had had dealings in the past. They had played against in Quidditch, they had also dated briefly during Harry's fifth year at school, though he had lost interest in her after the battle of the Department of Mysteries, and they had parted ways. Still, she had been a loyal member of the D.A., and had fought in the battle of Hogwarts. Harry realized he had no idea what had happened to her after that.

"Neville," she greeted him, reaching the pair. "I had no idea you were coming."

"Neither did I, until yesterday," Neville answered, nodding in greeting.

"The more the better. Harry, I haven't seen you for ages."

"I could say the same," Harry replied, shaking hands awkwardly. "So, what exactly are you doing here?"

"I'm heading up Professor Slughorn's search efforts." As if on cue, two men appeared and took Harry and Neville's luggage, disappearing into the crowd. "They will take your luggage to your rooms," she explained. "We think we've located Sir Richards tomb, and I want to get started as soon as possible." She set off a brisk pace, despite her limp, and Harry and Neville followed.

"Where is it?" Neville asked, as they crossed a bridge and turned to the right, walking along the canal.

"In the library."

"Library?"

"It used to be a church. When I last saw Miss Granger, it was there. She was very close to finding the knight's tomb, until she was abducted. We have no idea how or who did it. But they took all her notes. Except for this."

Cho took a folded piece of paper from her pocket, and passed it to Harry. He took it guiltily, deciding not to tell her about the Grail diary, at least not yet.

It was a page torn from the Diary. There were three roman numerals scrawled on it, III, VII, and X. "Three, seven and ten," Harry muttered, and handed the page back to Cho.

"I never knew you were an archeologist," he said, realizing he hadn't known nearly as much about her as he had thought.

"I wasn't," she sighed. "After you killed you-know-who, I didn't really know what to do with my life. I probably could have been an auror, but it wasn't something I wanted to do. I played Quidditch for Cardiff for a year. I was decent, until that bludger knocked me out of the sky. Broke most of the bones on my left side, crushed in my ribcage, that and I fell fifty feet. I should have died. Instead, everything got fixed, except they screwed up my leg. Hurts like hell, but I'm alive. I couldn't play Quidditch anymore, and I had always been above average in history of magic, so I became an archeologist. I had reasonable success in the field, and Slughorn hired me for this job. You?"

"Um, well, I became an auror. Saved the world two more times, traveled a bit, that sort of thing. Oh, and I got married."

"Really," Cho said casually, but Harry thought he felt her stiffen. "Who to?"

"Ginny Weasley."

"Ron's sister? Nice girl, her. Congratulations."

"Erm, thanks." Harry felt that there was nothing more awkward than discussing your wife with your ex-girlfriend of nearly ten years ago.

Therefore, he was thankful when Cho exclaimed, "This is the library."

"It does look like a church," Neville murmured, looking up at the stately building of brown stone.

Cho hurried up the steps to the double doors, and tapped the handle of the left door with her wand; Harry heard the lock click open. She slipped inside, and Harry and Neville followed her.

The library was deserted, which made it appear all the bigger inside. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and more wooden shelves replaced the pews, filled with ancient leatherbound volumes. A second floor had been added above them, hiding the ceiling's ornate fresco, but Harry could still see colored light falling through the stained glass window at the far end of the library.

Cho waved her wand, and the electric lights set periodically along the ceiling flickered on, dispersing the shadows. "The library is closed on Sundays," she explained, "we'll have the place to ourselves."

The three of them walked out into the library, toward the far end, peering at the bookshelves. Their footsteps echoed of the spotless tiled floor, Harry was struck by the emptiness of the place. It would make their work easier, certainly, but it was still creepy.

The stained glass window was expertly rendered. It was, as usual, a representation of several spiritual figures, such as Christ, Saint John, and Saint Peter. However, in the picture's center, was a knight. The knight was dressed in the armor of the crusades, and carried a shield with the iconic red cross upon it. His sword thrust into the ground, he was kneeling, as if in prayer.

To Harry, the picture was familiar. It was one of the many pieces of art that had been sketched in Hermoine's notebook. "She was none to something," he whispered. Neville and he shared a glance, agreeing with each other.

"Look for the numerals," said Cho, taking charge which she had already had. "Three, seven and ten."

"That's aisle three," said Neville pointing

"That wasn't here during the crusades," Cho sighed, "whatever the clue is, it'll be set in stone."

"I knew that."

"There," said Harry, pointing. He had still been looking at the stained glass, certain it held the answer. Beneath the praying knight, was the numeral X. on either side of him, the III and VII were set on scrolls held by two female figures, the virgin Mary, and Mary Magdaline. The second of these drew Harry's attention for a moment. The Holy Grail…he thought. No, no chance.

"I must be blind," Cho murmured. "The numerals are in the window."

"Not just in the window," said Neville. He was standing by a marble pillar. The numeral III was carved into it faintly.

"Seven," Cho pointed to a numeral on the far side of the room, set into another pillar.

Harry cast his gaze around, looking for an X, but found none. But then he remembered the stone tile beneath his feet. As ancient as the pillars, if not more so. He sprinted to a nearby spiral staircase, raced up it, to come out on a balcony on the second floor, looking out over the library. Sure enough, set in the tile, was a large X, at least twenty feet long, the sun glinting of it.

"Ten," he said.

"Classic," Neville grinned, "X marks the spot."

"If we use a simple-" Harry said, running back down the stairs. By the time he reached the bottom, however, five of the foot square tiles had been torn out of place, and sat in a neat pile, by Cho, who pocketed her wand. However, instead of stone, there was nothing but a black hole in the ground. The musty odor of decay washed out into the room, following a cloud of dust.

"So, you coming?" she asked.

"I couldn't protect you much otherwise," Harry sighed, as Cho lowered herself into the hole and dropped out of sight.

Neville made for the hole, but Harry stopped him. "Make sure nobody follows us," he said. "And keep this safe," he pressed the Grail Diary into his friend's hand.

Neville nodded, not looking too disappointed. "Good luck," he said.

"I hope so," said Harry, lowing himself into the depths beneath the library, where, hopefully, the information they sought resided.


	5. Chapter 5: The Tomb Of Sir Richard

Chapter five: the tomb of Sir Richard

Harry dropped below the floor, finding rather too late that there were fewer handholds than he had realized. He fell ten feet, and landed in a crouch. Cho was already there, here wand lit. She was once again leaning on the wall, keeping the weight of her leg.

"Thanks for dropping in," she said.

Harry grimaced, "How cliché."

"Coming from you, that's something," she gestured around her. "Shall we."

They were in a hallway carved roughly from the rock. It was low ceilinged and cramped, other than the space over their heads. The walls were covered in niches and shelves carved into the stone, crammed inside were multiple skeletons. Skulls and other bones littered the floor. Harry couldn't help but remember the Well of Souls, where he and Ginny had been entombed in Egypt. He was grateful these skeletons appeared completely dead. He hated inferi.

"I knew there were catacombs below Venice," Cho whispered, "But I've never been in them before. In Paris, yes, but not here. I wonder how far we from the canal."

"Not far enough," said Harry. But despite his cutting tone, he was nearly as curious as she was to explore the catacombs. There was something about places like this, untouched by time, which was invigorating.

"Pagan symbols," she said, running her fingers lightly over a faint engraving in the wall. "Predating the Crusades by six hundred years. The Christians would have built their own catacombs. If the knight is down here, that's where we'll find him."

Some feet above, Neville leaned against a bookshelf, thrumming through a thick volume that he swore hadn't been opened in over a hundred years. He didn't hear anyone else, engrossed as he was in the ancient plant diagrams. That was why it came as a total surprise when a jet of red light hit him in the back. Neville toppled to the tile floor, the book falling from his hands. His attackers paid him little mind, bypassing his limp form and focusing on the hole in the floor, through which Harry and Cho had recently disappeared.

Cho led the way through the catacombs; she seemed to know where she was going. Harry followed, kicking bones out of the way. As they moved through the catacombs, the ground sloped downward slightly, the corridor widened, and the smell worsened.

Until the tunnel reached a dead end, of course.

"That can't be right," Cho whispered to herself. Though there was no one to hear them, it was the sort of place where one whispered, whether out of respect for the dead or for dramatic effect.

She ran her fingers over the wall, then tapped it with her knuckles. "Mainly because it isn't," she answered herself. Harry knew enough to not reply, she was talking entirely to herself. Ginny did it sometimes.

Cho drew out her wand.

_"Flipendo!"_

The spell punched through the thin layer of rock, dust flew from the fresh hole. Though this approach didn't seem overly archeological to Harry, he appreciated its lack of subtlety. Then the smell hit him.

Harry coughed, clamping his sleeve over his mouth.

"Oil" said Cho, surprised. "I ought to sell it to the muggles and retire." Harry looked past her. Inside, the catacombs were very similar. The rough-hewn walls with occasional niches, the twisted skeletons spilling out of their niches. The only difference was that the ground was covered with shimmering black liquid, the fumes of which were doubly strong, after lying undisturbed for so long.

"Not pure oil though," said Cho, stepping through the hole in the wall gingerly, placing her weight on a narrow ledge. "Mostly water, the oil's just on the surface."

Cho began to inch her way down the ledge, Harry climbed through the wall and followed her, breathing through his mouth.

"Interesting," Cho breathed. She indicated a carving on the wall. It was of an ornate box, with carved angels atop it, streams of energy arching away from it, not unlike a cartoon sketch.

"Yeah, it's the Ark of Covenant."

"You sure?"

"Almost positive."

As the proceeded down the corridor, the sound of frantic squealing filled their ears. Cho turned the corner first. "Oh, rats," she said.

She was right. As Harry joined her, he saw that the niches and ledges along the next corridor were swarming with huge, brown rats. Their red eyes and yellow fangs glinted in the light of his wand; the vermin seemed not to notice the newcomers, which suited Harry just fine.

What he liked less was that a rotten pair of double doors hung off their hinges at the end of the corridor. Obviously where they were supposed to go.

"I'm the only one who's cliché," said Cho, sarcastically, but Harry could see the repulsion in her eyes.

It was a choice between the oil and the rats, and Harry choose the oil. It was easier to tell how watery the oil was when he was standing with it up to his knees. Its chill filled his shoes.

Cho followed him. She stumbled, and grabbed Harry's shoulder to keep from falling. "Damn leg," she muttered in explanation, looking away.

This time, Harry went first. He kept his wand held high, seeing the rats shrinking away from its light. The corridor was only twenty feet long, but it seemed to stretch on forever. Behind, Cho gasped in horror, as she crushed rats and human remains alike below her feet.

The next room was square, and had a higher ceiling. The water level was higher as well, reaching Harry's waist. Miraculously, it was almost free of rats. At the far end of the room sat a pedestal, and on that a featureless coffin, surprisingly well preserved.

Cho reached it first. She heaved the lid off the coffin, and peered inside. Her wand light fell onto a skeleton; the knight's flesh had almost entirely rotted away. Though his clothing had long since decomposed, the sword and shield it his grip were intact. On the shield was exactly the same inscription as on the slab of stone Harry had seen in Slughorn's apartment.

"The other marker," said Harry. Cho drew a piece of paper and a black art crayon from her pocket. Harry waited impatiently for her to make a rubbing of the shield.

The man who had knocked out Neville Longbottom stood at the hole Cho had punched in the catacomb wall. His skin was as dark as his hair and his eyes, and he was strong and supple. He wore a gray suit, and a dark red fez. The man took a deep breath, ignoring the acrid fumes issuing from the oil, and drew his wand from pocket. With an almost absentminded flick, he sent a stream of blue sparks out over the water. He turned away before they landed.

Cho Chang finished the drawing, and replaced the paper and crayon in her pocket, "I can translate it later," she explained.

"Let's hope so," said Harry. He turned to go, and that was when a rush of hot air washed over them. The rats in the tunnel began to squeal deafeningly. Rodents spilled through the rotten doors into the tomb.

Harry knew what was happening before he saw the wall of blue flame, hungrily devouring the oil on the water's surface. There was no time to warn Cho, so he just acted. Harry grabbed the coffin from the pedestal. He over turned it; Sir Richard's corpse disappeared unceremoniously beneath the water. Grabbing Cho by the shoulder, he forced her down beside him, under the overturned coffin. The flames began to lick at the wood of the coffin. The air pocket trapped underneath filled with smoke.

"What-" Cho began, and was then overcome with coughing as the smoke filled her lungs.

"Stay here," said Harry, somewhat needlessly, and he ducked under the water. The whole place was lit with a flickering blue light. The water stung Harry's eyes, but he kept them open, resisting the urge to surface. Then he saw it, a black patch, and a few feet wide, in the corner.

Back under the coffin, Cho had recovered from her coughing fit, and glanced down, searching for Harry's silhouette. Then the rats reached the coffin. They swarmed up from beneath, searching for the precious air above. More tore at the blackening wood of the coffin, it began to splinter, tongues of blue flame licking around the edges.

The rats swarmed over Cho. They tore at her hair, and wormed into her clothing. She struggled, but there were so many rats she couldn't shake them all free. Their little claws scratched her flesh, and one of them sank its teeth into her forearm. Another bit her, tearing into the soft flesh of her thigh. Then there was another, this time her shoulder, and another.

At first she thought it was another rat, but then she realized that it was Harry's grip that had curled around her hand. She barely had time to fill her lungs with smoky air, before he pulled her under with him. Trailing drowning rats behind her, Cho was dragged to the tombs stonewall. And then they were through it. It took her a moment to realize that they were now in a narrow passageway, not unlike a drain. Which wasn't very extraordinary, since that was exactly what it was.

Cho began to swim herself. She tried to ignore the wisps of blood that clouded the water around her. Her chest burned. She would have to take a breath soon, even if it filled her lungs with water.

Ahead, Harry changed direction. The drain branched off upward. Harry, figuring any way up was a good route, followed it. First his head, then his shoulders, cleared the waterline. Harry panted, trying to get in as much air as he could hold. How often he took the stuff for granted.

Cho surfaced behind him, coughing. She swore fluently in his ear, and grabbed hold of the ladder built into the wall of the drainage pipe. Her hair was plastered to her head, blood trickling down her face. "That," she hissed, "was not why I became an archeologist."

"I think someone wants the Grail to remain hidden," said Harry. "They tried to kill us."

"Remind me, were you always this obvious?" to emphasize her point, Cho tore her shirt open, revealing her torn black undershirt, and pulled out a wriggling rat, it's fangs stained red. She slammed it into the side of the pipe, breaking its spine, before letting it sink into the depths below.

"But," said Harry, "We survived. I doubt they expected that, therefore we have the advantage."

"We're in a drainage pipe, below a city neither of us has spent much time in, we dunno where we are, who are enemies are, and we look…well… pretty bad."

"But they think we're dead. Believe me, that's helpful."


	6. Chapter 6: Ah, Venice

Chapter six: ah, Venice

Cho Chang was right about one thing. When they crawled out into the light, they looked extremely conspicuous and out of place. Their clothes were torn and soaked. Cho, and less so Harry, were covered in blood, mostly their own. Both of them smelled like petroleum and smoke.

It didn't help that the drain they climbed out of was in the center of an outdoor café. People screamed, and hurried away. Harry saw many people talking on cell phones; snapping photos. Harry knew that not only would the authorities be here soon to investigate, but their photos would be all over the Internet. He wondered what the Auror office would think of that. Hopefully, they wouldn't notice. Wizards usually didn't bother with muggle news.

"Ah, Venice," said Harry, taking a deep breath of fresh air. Now that they were above ground, Harry realized how soaked he was. The chill set in, helped along by a cool breeze. "We should move," he said, shivering.

Cho agreed, "Slughorn's housing isn't far from here." She snatched an unattended glass of amber liquid from the table beside her. She downed it in one gulp, and slammed it back on the table. "That's better, let's go."

No sooner had she said this, then six men came around the corner. They all wore gray suits and red fezzes, and their skin was dark. Harry had never seen any of them before, but there was something about them that drew his gaze. Probably the fact that they were staring directly at him. And there was no fear in their eyes, only disgust.

Harry's presumptions were confirmed when one of the men, the leader, he presumed, pointed to them, and barked out a quick order in Turkish. The men drew their wands.

"Wizards," Harry whispered. A table nearby was blown to splinters by a poorly aimed spell. Harry pulled his wand from his pocket, but he was already contemplating an upcoming fight. Two against six was not the best of odds, and engaging in a magical duel in the center of a muggle tourist destination was never a good idea. Granted, he and Ginny had done much the same against twice as many opponents in Egypt. But those had been Death Eaters, he had been acting with ministry approval, and both of them had nearly been killed anyway.

In other words, Harry thought it better to bravely run away.

He dodged another spell, and sprinted through the café. Another table exploded somewhere to his left. Cho ran after him, her open shirt billowing behind her.

Harry dodged down a narrow alley, hoping Cho was following him. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he was sure these were the same men who had tried to kill them in the catacombs below.

The alley opened out onto a stone jetty, overlooking the Grand Canal. Three small motorboats, decked in polished wood, were tied to the jetty. Three men were sitting at a collapsible table, engaged in a card game. A sign in Italian advertised rental motorboats.

Harry decided that getting out on the water would get him farther away from his persuers, perhaps loose them entirely. He vaulted onto the first of the boats, releasing it from its moorings with a severing charm. As Cho scrambled in beside him, the six men ran out of the alley, setting their sights on the two of them. As the three men at the card game saw them, and began to shout angrily in Italian, Harry gunned the boats engine, and accelerated out onto the water, weaving in and out of the river's other passengers.

There was a thump from the rear of the boat. Harry looked back with a sinking feeling. One of the men had leapt for their departing vessel, and made it. Harry swerved, trying to shake the man of the boat, but was unsuccessful. The man began to crawl along the boat toward them, brandishing his wand. Far behind, the remaining five persuers piled into the other two boats, and sped off in pursuit.

"You drive," Harry shouted over the engines growl, and jumped out of his seat.

"But I can't-" Cho protested, seizing the wheel anyway.

"Just drive!" Harry stumbled on the smooth surface, as the boat doubled its speed. He slammed into the man. He grabbed his persuers wrist, angling the wand away. It occurred to Harry that it would have made more sense to simply use his own wand. The man threw his weight onto Harry, slamming Harry to the deck. He shouted out a spell, which went wild, and tore through the motorboat's windshield. It shattered, showering Cho with broken glass.

Cho looked over her shoulder, to see the two other boats gaining on them. One had three occupants, the other only two. As a jet of red light shot past her head, she swerved hard to the right. The canal opened out into the busy docks, where both cargo and cruise ships were arriving, departing, loading, and unloading.

Harry punched the man in the jaw, and did it again with his other fist. The Turkish man was sent reeling, and Harry looked up to see that they were rapidly approaching two cruise ships docking side by side. The gap between them was rapidly narrowing, as tugboats pressed them together.

"Don't-" Harry began, pointing between the ships. But he was cut off, as the man recovered, and dealt him a crushing blow in the side of the head. His ears ringing, Harry stepped back. The man charged him, but Harry dodged to the side, flipping his attacker over his hip and into the water.

Harry focused his attention ahead, to see Cho guide the boat into the gap between the two ships. "I told you not to go through!"

She shrugged, "I didn't hear you."

As they accelerated even more, on of the pursuing motorboats followed them into the gap. One of its three passengers sent a curse racing toward them; But Harry knocked it out of the way with a shield charm. He retaliated with a jinx of his own, but it was similarly dispersed.

As they reached the far end of the passage, the sides of the boat scrapped against the ship's hulls, wearing away, leaving streaks of paint along behind them. Cho pressed the accelerator as far as it would go.

They cleared the ships just in time. Behind them, the motorboat was crushed between the cruise ship's hulls. Its fuel tank ignited, and a flash of flame, red this time, flared up in their wake.

Harry allowed himself a surprised grin. He doubted this really was Cho's first experience driving.

Then a spell slammed into the back of their boat. A shower of splinters was thrown up as the wood was torn apart. The engine choked, and began spilling out thick, foul-smelling smoke. The boat shuddered and slowed. Harry saw their fuel leaking away into the water behind.

Harry looked up to see the other boat. One of the men was driving, the other stood, and it was he who had caused the damage. He barely took this in before the boat rammed into them. Harry was knocked to the deck.

Despite Cho's efforts, their boats lost control, drifting toward the rear of a departing cargo vessel, as the engine died. Their attackers vessel pulled along beside them. Harry's locked eyes with the standing man. He saw only hatred in the man's eyes, as his lips formed the killing curse.

Harry had no time to go for his wand, so he leapt. He cleared the gap between the two boats, and slammed into the standing man. The man was surprised, and knocked backward. He stumbled, and, unable to find his balance, tumbled backward into the water.

The remaining man stood up in the drivers seat. He tried to raise his wand, but Harry kicked at his wrist, knocking the wand away into the water. Harry backhanded his pursuer across the face, but the man was prepared, and it was only a glancing blow. He retaliated with a chop to Harry's shoulder, as Harry fell, then drove his fist into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

With no one to steer it, the boat drifted aimlessly, till it was seized by the pull of the cargo ship's left propeller. The boat was drawn in, faster and faster. The two combatants aboard it still unaware of the propeller's crushing blades.

Cho, however, recognized the impending danger, and wrenched her motorboat to the left. As the boat pulled away from the vortex around the propeller, its engine shuddered and gave up the ghost.

She watched helplessly as the other boat was pulled toward the spinning blades, the men atop still grappling with each other. Cho twisted around at stared at the boats crumpled motor. Broken. Of course, it was so easy. Cho pulled out her wand, and pointed it.

_"Repairo!"_

Harry recognized their eminent collision the propeller when the roar of the water displaced by it grew so loud he couldn't hear his blows connecting with his opponent. Realizing that it was time to bring an end to this fight, he ducked under a punch, and slammed the palm of his hand up under the man's jaw. The man was knocked of balance. His fez was displaced, as was his superior expression.

Harry didn't hesitate, but followed up with a left hook that spun the man as he fell to the deck, he felt something crack under his assault. Harry knelt over the fallen man, and grabbed his collar. The Turkish man was still conscious, and he spat blood into Harry's face.

"Why are you trying to kill us?" Harry shouted over the roar of the propeller.

"You seek the Holy Grail," the man spoke for the first time.

"So did my friend, did you kill her too?"

"No, she is alive, we never touched her."

"Then where is she?"

The man said nothing.

The boat reached the throbbing propeller. Its bow was drawn between the blades, and chopped to shreds. Splinters of wood filled Harry's eyes.

"Where is she? We'll die if we don't move. And I'm not moving till I know!"

The Turk smiled. "My soul is prepared. How is yours?"

The propeller's grinding blades reached the motorboat's steering wheel, and devoured it. "Come on," he looked up to see Cho at the wheel of the other motorboat, pull up alongside them. Harry looked back to the spinning propeller blades, to the Turk with that smile, so angelic Harry hated every inch of it.

_It'd be really stupid to die, just to make a point. What about Hermoine and the Grail, what about Ginny?_

"My soul's not quite ready," he muttered. And he jumped, pulling the Turk behind him, onto the other boat. As Cho sped away, the abandoned motorboat was completely destroyed by the propeller.

Cho steered back onto the Grand Canal. She pulled up beneath a wide bridge, hiding the motorboat from view. She climbed out, followed by Harry. As the Turkish man scrambled out, Harry grabbed him by the shoulders, and pinned him to the wall, his wand at the man's throat. He was still filled with the mix of fear and adrenaline that so often came from fighting with people who wanted to see you dead.

"Where is Hermoine?" he whispered.

"If you let me go, I will tell you."

Harry grudgingly let the man go, as he stepped back. "Who are you?"

"My name is Kazim," he said, rubbing his jaw.

"Other than that."

Kazim pulled his shirt open, to reveal a red tattoo on his chest. It was of a cross, the same cross as on Sir Richard's shield. "I belong to the brotherhood of the Cruciform sword, we have guarded the Grail's secrets for thousands of years. The Holy Grail is not is not of this world, it's secrets are not for man to possess."

_That's what they said about the Ark, _Harry thought,_ and they were right_. Instead he said, "And my friend?"

"Miss Granger is being held at a castle Brunwald, set on the German-Austrian border. She was taken by strange men, we know not who they are, only that they also seek the Grail."

"Thanks," said Harry, grudgingly.

Kazim nodded. "You should ask yourself. Do you seek the cup of Christ for his glory, or your own."

"I just want to find my friend."

"Then God be with you on your quest." Kazim turned, and walked away without another word. Within seconds, he was beyond view.

"I hope so," Cho said quietly.


	7. Chapter 7: To Austria

Chapter seven: to Austria

By the time Harry and Cho reached Slughorn's apartments, Neville was already there. He was none the worse for wear from the attack on his person, but was just as surprised as Harry that the Grail Diary was still in his possession. Either the Cruciform sword hadn't searched him for it, or they just hadn't cared.

Both Cho and Harry were a mess. They were still wet and shivering from the canal, and to make matters worse, both were covered with blood, both were bruised and battered from the fight with the brotherhood, and both reeked of petroleum.

Harry had quickly parted ways, into his own room, and peeled of his ruined clothes. He took a lengthy shower, followed by a bath, and then another shower. Though not entirely absent, he felt that the smell oil was as displaced as it could be, time would have to do the rest. He also did his best to heal his cuts and bruises by magic. While healing wasn't his strong suit, he made things better at least. Harry dressed again, in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt from his still unpacked luggage.

Harry went back out into his room. It was very charming, not unlike a smaller version of Slughorn's own apartment. Neville was seated on a low couch, looking drowsy. He too had changed into more comfortable clothing. The Grail diary sat before him on an ornate coffee table, a half-empty glass of water beside it.

"You stun people so much," he said, thinking back to his time in the DA, "that its odd when it happens to yourself."

Harry sat beside him. "I know the feeling. Are you alright though?"

"Better now that I've seen this." Neville indicated the parchment before him. It was the rubbing Cho had made in the tomb; someone had used magic to draw the water out of it, making it as dry as paper ought to be.

"She translated it first," said Neville, "Before she even washed her face, bless her."

"So what does it say?" Harry questioned impatiently.

"The name of a city, Alexandretta. The city was destroyed during the crusades. According to doctor Chang, but the modern day city of Iskenduran is built on its ruins."

"Across the desert and through the mountain to the canyon of the Crescent Moon." Harry recited. "But we need a location, a map."

"Fortunately, we have one." Neville picked up the Grail diary and flicked to a marked page. On it was a map, some mountainous desert region. "Hermoine knew where the Grail was, all she was missing was the name of the city to start from."

Harry grinned. There was nothing like a breakthrough, no matter how much peril he had been through to get it. "Wonderful. Book two tickets to Iskenduran. Maybe tomorrow morning."

"But what about you-"

"I'm going to Austria."

"But you're supposed to be protecting Cho-"

"You'll be with her. Your one of the best students I ever taught. You fought at the Department of Mysteries, and Hogwarts. You even destroyed one of the Horcruxes. You'll both be fine. I'll be back in a moment."

Harry left the room, and crossed the hall outside. He knew what he had to do, but he wasn't sure how to tell Cho. He knew something was wrong, however, when he saw the door of her room. It was hanging of on its hinges, the lock has been blown open, and it appeared as though the doorknob had been torn out of the wall.

Harry stepped through, carefully. The room inside was identical to his own, only it had been completely ransacked. The pictures had been torn from the walls, the couch had been ripped apart, the table overturned. As Harry stepped inside. He saw that the same happened in the other rooms. Broken glass crunched beneath his feet. The drawers had been yanked out of the desk, and overturned. Important notes and papers littered the floor, along with clothes, ripped open to prove that there was nothing hidden their lining.

Harry thought he saw something glisten, a flash of color underneath the shattered glass, bent when he picked it up, he saw it was only a box of matches, stamped with the hotel's logo. _I'm getting paranoid, _he thought.

"What. The. Bloody. Hell." Harry hadn't heard Cho behind him, until she spoke, startling him. She had just exited the bathroom, which looked to be the only part of the apartment untouched by the perpetrators. She wore a white cotton bathrobe, courtesy of the hotel. Her hair was still wet, hanging in tendrils that had yet to be styled, her skin red from the hot water. Her eyes were wide as she looked around at the destruction. She went to him, her bare feet gingerly avoiding the broken glass and pottery that littered the floor.

"Who d'you think did this. I must be deaf."

"Haven't the foggiest," said Harry, shrugging. "But I think they were looking for this." He took out the Grail diary, and held it up. He had brought it with him, planning to show her the map.

"You had it all along, and you didn't tell me," she said angrily. "Do you know how hard I've been looking for that?"

Harry shrugged again. "It must have slipped my mind. Sorry. Anyway, we have a map. We know where the Grail is. You and Neville are going to Iskenduran."

"But what-"

"I'm going to castle Brunwald."

"But Harry. The Grail is in reach, we can't waste time."

"I can. I'm going to help Hermoine, or at least find out what happened to her. Hopefully, I'll be able to find out who did this in the process," he gestured at the wrecked room.

"Then I'm going with you."

"But you need-"

"Neville will be fine, we'll send the diary with him, we can go to him right after we get your friend. I just think things will go more according to plan, with both of us. If they're trying to kill me, I'd like to know who they are."

"Whatever," Harry sighed. "Get packed, we're leaving as soon as I've had something to eat." He turned on his heel, and walked out, kicking the door closed behind him.

"Women. Never can make up their bloody minds."

Despite Harry's prediction, they didn't leave for Austria until the next day. Neville left on an early morning flight to Iskenduran, despite Cho's assurances, Harry had a bad feeling about sending him off by himself, despite Cho's encouragement. The night before he had created an exact copy of the map included in the diary, using a difficult matter-replicating spell. He had given it to Neville; sure he would need it, but kept the original for himself. Though it probably wasn't necessary, Harry felt better having it with him.

Harry verified the castle's location. It was close enough that, they could make it there by car that night, if they made good time.

And so, with everything Harry thought they would need for infiltrating a castle, they set off. Harry didn't explain to Slughorn's men where they were going, against Cho's instruction. He felt his former professor wouldn't appreciate them running off on a rescue mission with the Grail so close within reach.

The car was very nice. Harry once again had no idea what model it was, but it was black and sleek and handled like a dream. He enjoyed driving it.

The drive to Austria was altogether uneventful. They spoke little, stopping only to fill the car's tank. Harry hadn't known how easy it was to get fuel for free with the use of ones wand. They took turns driving, Harry dozing while Cho drove, and they spoke little. As the scenery got greener and filled with trees, Harry began to wonder what they were going to do. Get in, get Hermione, find out who was responsible for her abduction, and get out. That was the extent of his plan. The rest would be improvisation and luck.

Just like old times.

Night fell over castle Brunwald, and with it came the rain. Such storms were not uncommon in the area, and they hid the castle from view all the better. It was built on a slight incline, next to a river, which was currently overflowing due to the storm. Though the castle was ancient, dating back to the dark ages, where it had been home to one of Austria's petty monarchs, it had been remodeled, with all modern conveniences. It even had access to the muggle cable network and Internet.

The butler was surprised when there was a rapping on the wide double doors, which marked the most obvious of the castle's many entrances. It was not often they had formal visitors. The many muggle-repelling charms about the place made sure of that.

The butler knew little about his employers. He knew that they paid him fairly, if not wonderfully, and he knew that they were outside of the law, and wished to be left alone. He also knew that if he investigated much farther into their affairs, he would not live to see another paycheck.

The butler was a middle–aged man, with balding dark hair, and a slight frame. He still wore an old-fashioned suit, despite the fact that it was nearly midnight, but his drowsiness was apparent on his face.

As he drew back the door, he was greeted by a blast of chill night air, and the smell of falling rain. Two people awaited him on the doorstep, fidgeting despite the chill. They were both taller than he. The foremost was a young man, in his twenties, with spiky black hair the rain had plastered to his scalp. He was dressed in jeans, and a jacket fully sipped up over a soaked t-shirt. The other was a woman, about the same age. She also wore jeans, albeit nicer than the man's. She was Asian and very attractive, her black hair tied back out of her face.

It was the woman who spoke first. "Hello. I am doctor Chang of the magical institute of archeology, and this is my…assistant, Mr. Porter. We have arrived to test this wonderful site for magical residue, suggesting that there were wizards active here at some time. It won't take long, and we're sure to make it worth your while."

The butler was taken aback. Still, he knew his employer's outlook on such visitors. "I'm sorry, but we cannot harbor such tests at this time. I would recommend that you send an owl to my employers, with the intent of setting up an appointment."

"Please," said the woman, entreatingly, "we must do this now as to meet our deadline, we'll be only a minute, and ever so quiet." She tried to push past him, but he bared her way.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but if you two are from the archeologist institute than I am Harry Potter!"

The man spoke for the first time. "No. That's my job." And his unverbal stunning spell hit the butler in the chest, throwing him back, immobile.

Harry stepped inside, as Cho quietly shut the door behind him. He squinted about, and removed his glasses from his pocket. He slid them on, and an ornate hall ending in a wide staircase was thrown into focus. The walls were richly furnished in beautiful paintings and antique suits of armor. It reminded him slightly of Hogwarts.

Harry flicked his wet hair out of his eyes, and cursed when he realized that he had also wiped away the remnants of the makeup Cho had applied to hide his scar. It could have come in handy.

Cho herself came up beside him, giggling quietly. "That's my job," she whispered. "That's got the be the stupidest tough guy line I've ever heard."

"I didn't see you have any better ideas," he said. Harry reached into his pocket, and pulled out a roll of shimmering silver fabric. He unrolled it, and draped it partly over himself, rendering himself partially invisible.

"I heard rumors you had an invisibility cloak," Cho murmured, "I've never seen one before, though."

"You heard right. It's a hallow too."

"A what?"

"Nothing."

They stuffed the unconscious butler into an ornate cupboard, and scaled the staircase. Harry was thankful for the cloak. Though they were both stooped and uncomfortably close, it covered him and Cho easily enough. He was thankful for it, especially, when they were passed by the castles other occupants. These were mostly men, but a few women. All were dressed in black, and spoke in hushed whispers that Harry didn't dare try to eavesdrop on.

After twenty minutes exploring, Harry stopped suddenly. "She's here," he whispered, pointing to one of the many wooden doors in the long hallway.

"How do you know?"

"It's spelled shut. Only someone with the proper incantation can open it. I don't have it."

"So…"

"In here." Harry opened the door next to it, and slipped inside. The room was mercifully empty. He slid out of the cloak, and left it with Cho. "Hold on to it, for me." He told her.

Harry crossed to the window. He was about to open it, but something else caught his eye. An antique desk, littered with papers. He seized one and squinted at in the darkness. There was not enough light to read the text, but he saw the emblem all too clearly. He was more familiar with it that he would like. He had hoped never to see it again. Rendered in green ink, a skull, with a snake intertwining through it. The snake rearing up, until its body disappeared into the skull's mouth.

The dark mark.

"Death Eaters," Harry growled. "I hate these guys."

Harry tossed the memo back onto the desk; he couldn't worry about that now. He crossed to the window, it was locked, but not by magic, and he was easily able to open it. As he slid it up as far as it would go, rain poured through in to the room, soaking him, and ruining most of the desk's contents.

"Stay here," he said, looking back at Cho. "Use the cloak if you need to."

"What are you doing?"

"My job." Harry climbed out the window without another word.

It was much colder outside. This was mainly due to the rain. There was a narrow ledge of stone under the window. Harry crouched on it, and began inching foreword, wishing it wasn't so slippery. The window of the sealed room was only six feet away, but it seemed like miles. It didn't help that it was at least a three-story drop to the ground below.

A gargoyle was nestled on the floor above. Water poured from the drain in its mouth, drenching Harry even further. He tried to straighten up. His foot slipped, and he grabbed the gargoyle's foot to keep upright.

Clinging to the gargoyle, Harry inched along the ledge, until he reached the window of the sealed room. The glass was opaque, made more so by the pouring rain. Harry clung to the stone with one hand, as he pulled out his wand.

He meant to perform a simple nonverbal unlocking charm, but he was drenched and cold and tired, and it was difficult to focus. The windowpane was torn from its frame; it fell back into the room from the source of the spell, and shattered across the floor. Harry climbed in after it.

It was very similar to the room he had just left. It was very dark, but seemed to be a sort of derelict office. With a desk in the corner, and broken couch, an empty cage that might have once held an owl.

The attack came from behind. Someone hit him in the back of the head with a long stick of wood, a leg torn from a chair. It shattered on impact, but Harry barely noticed. He fell to his knees as stars exploded within his skull, his ears ringing.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Harry, its really you." Harry was pulled to his feet, and embraced in a sisterly manner. When his assailant pulled away, he got his first good look at her.

She was slim and a little shorter than he. Her nut-brown hair fell in uncared for tangles about her shoulders. She was not nearly as pretty as Cho, not in the traditional sense, but she radiated warmth and intelligence, and Harry found himself already more comfortable.

Hermione was like that.

She had been treated poorly. Her clothing, muggle jeans and a t-shirt advertising the weird sisters, a wizarding pop group, was wrinkled and dirty. Her face was bruised, and there was a cut over her eye. She smelled of sweat and dried blood. And Harry resisted the urge to hug her again.

"Did you get the diary," she said, breathlessly.

He nodded, "the map is with Neville." He chose not to explain that it was there also. "We found the knight's tomb"

"And?"

"Alexandretta. That's where the Grail is."

"Of course." Her smile faded. "We have to get out of here, before the Death Eaters find us."

"We have a minute," Harry held up his hand, none to eager to venture back out onto the ledge. "Death Eaters."

"Yeah. You won't believe this. After you killed Voldemort, the free Death Eaters went into hiding. There was one of them; his name is Vogol, Benjamin Vogol, who brought them all together, in Berlin. Now, there's an army of them. He wants the Grail, I don't know why, but he does. They wanted the diary, so I sent it to you, before they got me. They still don't know where it's at. They tortured me, I told them all I knew, I couldn't help it, but even I didn't know that. Alexandretta, of course."

"Of course." Harry did believe it. In fact, he had already seen another Death Eater upraising. A man named Dietrich had led a mass breakout from Azkaban, with the plans to use the power of God, harnessed through the mythical Ark of the Covenant, for world domination. He and all his followers had been killed, destroyed by the biblical angel of death, and Harry had thought he had seen the last of the Death Eaters. Still, he wasn't surprised. Certainly disappointed, though.

Just then, the door flew open. In strode three people, Death Eaters, Harry reminded himself, two men and a woman. The pulled out their wands, pointing them at the pair.

"Harry Potter," said the woman, "about time you showed up. We've been waiting so long, the dark lord says you always did have a thing for saving people."

Harry raised his hands in defeat. He knew that without surprise, he had no chance of defeating these opponents.  
>"You'll come with us, but first: the diary."<p>

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Hermoine beat him too it. "He doesn't have it, not with him, of course."

The woman groaned, relaxing her aim for just an instant. It was all Hermoine needed. She snatched the wand from Harry's pocket, and with a flash of white light, the three Death Eaters were thrown backward, unconscious.

Hermoine handed him his wand. "You'll need this." She had already reached the door by the time he realized what had happened.

"I'm an auror too, you know," she explained.

Harry followed her out into the hallway, to be met with an unpleasant sight. Ahead of them, blocking the way back were Cho Chang, and a man Harry had never seen before.

"Vogol," Hermoine breathed, explaining the man's identity.

Vogol was not at all as Harry had imagined him. He was in his thirties, with blond hair that fell over pale blue eyes, but more than that, he was short. Shorter than Hermoine. Still, while in no means muscular, he looked strong and capable. Wiry, was the term Harry would have used. His clothing was black and simple. Long-sleeved shirt, combat trousers, and black boots. More than that, he was holding Cho. One arm around her waist, pinning her arms, the other held a wand at her throat. Cho didn't struggle, but Harry could see the fear in her eyes.

"The fabled Harry Potter, I have been wanting to meet you for years," Vogol spoke with a slight European accent, German, Harry thought.

"I hadn't heard of you until a few minutes ago."

"Nobody's perfect. Now throw down your wand, or else I will be forced to kill this charming young woman. I'm sure you wouldn't want that."

Hermione pulled at his arm, "Don't listen, it's a trap. Run, we can make it."

But Harry couldn't bring himself to believe that. Though it didn't seem like her, Hermoine had never liked Cho anyway, and now that freedom was within reach…

"We are waiting, Potter."

Harry sighed. So close, and yet so far. But he couldn't look away from the fear in Cho's eyes. He tossed his wand; it rolled to a stop at Vogol's feet.

Vogol released Cho, shoving her away. He bent to pick up Harry's wand. "Amazing what people can fall too, when an old flame is threatened," he said.

Cho fell into Harry's arms, wrapping him in a tight embrace. She whispered two words into his ear. "I'm sorry." Her dipped into his jacket pocket, and found the Grail diary. Removing it gently, she pulled away, and went back to join Vogol.

Death Eaters moved out into view surrounding them.

Harry was seized, magical ropes bound his hands. The same thing was done to Hermoine beside him. "I told you," she sighed. "She's one of them."

Doctor Chang's gaze never left Harry's; every trace of terror was gone. A smile played about her beautiful features. "You made your choice. I made mine."


	8. Chapter 8: The Capture Of Neville

Chapter eight: the capture of Neville Longbottom

Root of Marander. Ground bone of the desert pixie. Frentiatnon extract. Ron Weasley surveyed the list in front of him. All rare, all magical, all requested.

His brother, and employer, George Weasley, felt that it was best to mix business with pleasure. Therefore, when Ron had requested a holiday, George had seen fit to send him to the heated desert of sunny Iskenduran, with a list of rare ingredients he hoped to experiment with, hoping to find some greatly humorous use for.

And so Ron found himself sitting in a grubby pub near to Iskenduran's miniscule airport, with a pounding headache, and a list of rare magical ingredients he had no idea how to get a hold of.

It wasn't that Ron didn't like Iskenduran, it was a fine city. Just it was hot. And dry. Ron had actually wished to spend his vacation at home, perhaps visiting Harry and Ginny, but it was too late for that now.

Deciding that he had no need to stay in there any longer, Ron left the pub. The sunlight assaulted his senses, and he took a deep breath of air. It was filled with both the salt of the sea and the sand of the desert. Lovely.

A plane must have landed recently, Ron figured. He could tell by the crowd of people exiting the airport. A mix of young travelers, fat tourists, and old professors here for the rich archeological scene. Muggles every one of them. Ron didn't have anything against muggles; one of his best friends was muggle-born. But he had seen a total of three wizards since his arrival, which made it difficult to barter and buy magical goods.

"Ron Weasley, what on Earth you doing here? It's been ages."

Make that four.

Ron turned to find himself facing a tall, dark-haired man with a round face. "Neville," he exclaimed, equally surprised. "What brings you here?"

"Me and Harry are working for professor Slughorn, we're on the trail of the Holy Grail, and we think it's in Turkey. You."

"Business and pleasure, but I haven't got enough of either. The Holy Grail, are you kidding? Is Harry here."

"I'm not kidding," Neville assured him, as the two walked down an alleyway to come out in a crowded strip mall. "Harry's not here though. He had an errand in Austria, I came here from Venice."

"Lucky." Ron muttered. "How come whenever I go with him we end up in the mine from hell or something?"

But Neville was no longer listening. A sleek black automobile had pulled up beside them. A man got out. He wore a nice suit, but had removed the jacket due to the heat, and was now in the process of sweating up his starched white shirt.

"You are Mr. Longbottom, correct?"

"Yes, yes I am," said Neville.

"Good, you're right on schedule. Please come with us, we're from the antiquities museum of Iskenduran, we'll take you there, where you can pick up the search."

"Thank you," Neville replied, as the man opened the door to the car's backseat. To Ron, "Great to see you again, but duty calls."

But Ron wasn't listening. His gaze was focused on the man's shirtsleeve, where the sweat had plastered it to the skin. He wasn't sure, but he could swear he saw a black shape standing out against the skin.

More than that, though. In the week he had spent here, Ron had been all over Iskenduran. And if there was one thing he knew, there was no antiquities museum.

"Run," he said to Neville, finally looking up.

"What?" said Neville, not understanding.

"You can't go with these people. They're not who you think."

"Mr. Longbottom," the man entreated, seizing Neville by the shoulder, "there is no time to waste."

Ron knew he couldn't let Neville go with these men, but he didn't know what he could do. He knew enough not to pull out his wand, he didn't want to have the Turkish ministry on his head as well.

So Ron slugged the man. Though Ron didn't have much experience in muggle fighting, there wasn't much to master either. You either connected, or you didn't. He did, and the man was caught by surprise. He fell to his knees against the car, dazed.

Neville finally realized what Ron had meant, and the two set off running down the street. A spell shoot past, and impacted with a shop front, in an explosion as shattered glass. Then the screams began.

"In here, find the back entrance," Ron shouted, as he pulled Neville into a nearby cloth dealership. The small shop was deserted. A trail of blue flames shot past Ron, scorching his shoulder, and set fire to a roll of green cotton. Ron shoved Neville foreword, and spun to face his attacker.

_"Sectumsempra!"_

_ "Protego!"_

It was a woman, which surprised him slightly. Her curse was batted aside by his shield charm, and sliced a red tapestry in half.

_"Petrificus stupificus!"_

Ron's spell, an improvised cross between a stunning and immobilization charm, connected. The woman spun away, dropping her wand, and fell back into a shelf of cloth, which was upset, burying her in rolls of fabric.

Ron turned back and sprinted to the back of the shop. He was just in time to see two more darkly clad men bundle Neville's limp form into the back of a supply truck. It sped away before the door had completely shut. The message on its side advertised _Alam's extra-adhesive duct tape. Fixes everything, from abrasions to zebras!_

They had gotten Neville. And Ron didn't even know who they were. Despite his best efforts, he would never be like Harry.

Ron went back in to the main body of the shop. He put out the small blaze with a blast of water from his wand. He reckoned he had about two minutes before the authorities arrived, muggle or otherwise.

He saw the woman, and went to her. Crouching over her limp body, her shoved cloth out of the way, uncovering her. Ron saw that she was rather pretty, and felt a pang of guilt. Then he saw it, and all guilt was replaced by regret that the makeshift spell hadn't killed her.

The improvised spell had hit her so hard it had torn through the fabric of her light shirt, but Ron's attention was focused on the exposed flesh of her right shoulder. There, burned into it, as plain as the freckles on his nose, was the dark mark. It seemed to move slightly, the long snake twining around her arm.

He had just lost Neville Longbottom to the Death Eaters.

Ron leaned back, and groaned, running a hand through his red hair. "I hate coming in late."


	9. Chapter 9: Another Betrayel

Chapter nine: another betrayal

As Ron was retreating from the scene of Neville's abduction in Iskenduran, back in Austria, Harry felt that there was no way matters could get any worse. It was so obvious. Cho. She must have wrecked her own room to draw suspicion away from herself. Her anger when she discovered he hadn't told her about the diary, her surprise when the Brotherhood attacked them, it all added up, he just didn't want to believe it.

After their capture, Harry and Hermoine had been led to a long dining room. There was a fireplace at the far end, and the walls were just as adorned with antiquities as the rest of the castle. There was a long wooden dining table lined with chairs. The table was unadorned, and this reminded Harry that he was very hungry.

Harry and Hermoine were seated in two wooden chairs, their backs to each other. They were bound like this by strong black coils of rope that the Death Eaters had conjured before leaving. Now they were alone with Cho and Vogol, both of whom were seated in similar wooden chairs, albeit unbound. They both faced Harry, so Hermoine had to turn her head uncomfortably to face them.

They were currently pouring over the diary, ignoring the captives. The longer that went on, Harry thought, the better. Still, he had still not seen any means of escape, though not for lack of trying.

"I thought you said the map was with Neville," Hermoine whispered.

"Oh, it is. I sort of… made a copy."

Hermoine groaned.

Vogol snapped the diary shut, and handed it to Cho. "Everything seems to be there," he said. "We can now move into he final stage."

"So we're going to Turkey?" Cho asked.

Vogol shook his head. "No, we're going to Berlin. Then we're going to Turkey. I need to square things of with the Turkish ministry, they don't much like huge parties of foreign wizards poking around in their country. It won't take long."

They stood, but Harry wasn't ready to let them leave yet. He figured the more information he had, the better.

"Why do you want the Grail?" he said loudly. "How is it supposed to help the Death Eaters?"

"That," said Vogol. "Is an excellent question." He sat back down, scooting his chair closer to Harry and Hermoine. "One I think I will answer. It's the least I can do for the boy who made it possible for me to take over this wonderful organization.

"First of all, I am all to aware of the lost ark incident. Dietrich was a good man, but he was too ambitious for his own good. There's a saying: 'if you play with fire, you're going to get burned.' He did. He tried to master the power of God, and was destroyed by it, with a little help from that Malfoy kid."

"Did you have something to do with that?" Hermoine whispered.

"Yeah, long story," Harry, answered.

Vogol continued. "In my opinion, he took rather the wrong course of action. The Ark held the power of destruction. The Grail is the opposite. Yes, it grants immortality, which will certainly be helpful. Imagine an army that will never die, never even age. But that isn't the half of it. Doctor Chang?"

Cho nodded, taking up the narrative. "The Grail doesn't just give immortality. It's the cure for cancer, Aids, STDs, HIV, rabies, acne, pneumonia and the common cold all rolled into one. And it doesn't just heal diseases, but physical injury, perhaps even fatal wounds."

"So it will heal your leg," said Harry, "is that why you've joined these people?"

"It will," said Cho, "and I'll be grateful. But that's not why I'm searching for it. If we use it wisely, the Grail will bring an end to sickness and pain. That's something I want to be a part of."

"So you'll be the greatest healers ever," said Harry, "bully for you. I just don't see how that fits into Death Eater philosophy."

"Doesn't it," asked Vogol. "Voldemort was the greatest wizard to ever lived, but he's gone now. Nothing's going to bring him back. That's where Dietrich was wrong. Voldemort was all about domination, and using fear and sheer power to get what he wanted. Might makes right. It sounds good, but it never really works.

"Imagine what will happen when people discover we have the power to heal. The same power used by Christ in the New Testament. They'll love us. Wizard and muggle alike, they'll come running, and bowing, and begging. And the Death Eaters will rule mankind. Not because we've defeated them, but because they want us to."

Vogol stopped, letting his words hang in the air. He was a good speaker. Harry wanted to let loose with another smart remark, but none came to him.

"You know," said Vogol, through a yawn. "It is getting late. So late it's getting early. We must leave you soon. But first, there's someone else I feel you should meet."

As if on cue, the door opened behind Harry. He heard Hermoine gasp, and twisted around to look behind him. Who he saw was an overweight old man wearing a rumpled suit and impressive gray mustache.

"Harry, m'boy," said Horace Slughorn, "didn't I tell you not to trust anybody."

Cho was one thing, but Slughorn, Harry gaped. Slughorn shrugged, "What can I say? I want to be a part of healing the world. They couldn't do it without my mind, nor I without their resources. I knew you would never help dear miss Chang if I told you where our funding was coming from, so I didn't."

"But, how?" Harry sputtered. "I mean, you fought Voldemort yourself. How can you side with this…these people?"

"You heard his plan, Harry," Slughorn replied. "It's not at all like Voldemort's. Besides, what better way to top off my collection than with the new leader of the world? I must leave you now Harry, miss Granger. It's a bit of a trip to Berlin, and there's an excellent bottle of 1938 oak-matured mead calling me. Farewell." And without another word, Slughorn left.

Vogol and Cho stood, "We must be leaving as well," the Death Eater, explained.

Cho crossed to Harry, standing over him. "Goodbye," she whispered. And, lifting his chin with her hand, she kissed him full on the mouth. It was by far the most unromantic kiss Harry had ever participated in. When Cho pulled away, he spat in her face.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"So am I," Harry answered.

And then she was gone, striding out the wooden doors.

Now it was Vogol's turn. He didn't approach, but stayed where he was, twirling his wand in his fingers, a winning smile playing about his lips. "Forgive me if I don't kiss Granger," he said. "She doesn't interest me. Still, it seems I must be going; parting is such sweet sorrow, and all that. I'm glad I could meet you, Harry. As we Death Eaters like to say-

"_Crucio!"_

The unforgivable curse splayed from the end of his wand to engulf both Harry and Hermione. Harry was familiar with the Cruciatus curse. Its purpose was to cause great pain to another person. It was punishable by a lifetime in the wizard prison. Harry had endured it before. For him, it felt as if his very bones were on fire, scorching his body from within. His screams mixed with Hermoine's, tell he couldn't separate the sounds.

This time it was worse though. The spell was expertly cast, Harry had never seen it used on two individuals at once. More than that, usually the pain was so great that he plunged in a state of almost unconscious non-feeling. Not so. He was fully aware, and felt every second of it.

It took him a moment to recognize when the spell broke off. By that time Vogol was gone. Harry leaned foreword, panting, he was soaked with sweat. Behind him Hermione had fared no better.

"I've…I've never seen someone able to do two people at once before. He must be more powerful than he looks." She said, breathlessly.

"That's what I was thinking," Harry groaned.

"So, what now."

"We're going to escape, and then we're going to go find the Grail before they get a hold of it."

"And how are we going to do that?"

"I haven't figured that out yet."

They sat in silence.

"You know," said Harry, "I think I liked the first goodbye better."

Hermoine laughed. "I won't tell Ginny you said that.

Outside, Cho Chang turned up the collar of her coat against the rain. It was thick and warm; Vogol had taken it from one of his men, and given it to her. It long, around her knees, but she liked it. He was so thoughtful, in a warped way. And it was black, of course. These people's fashion encompassed only one color.

It wasn't a long walk to the three cars, waiting to carry them, along with Vogol's highest-ranking officers, to Berlin. But it was still raining heavily, and the ground had rapidly turned to mud.

She looked back, to see what was keeping the Death Eater leader. She watched a sodden tawny owl fly out of the storm, to drop a letter into his open palm, before disappearing once more into the clouds. Vogol tore open the soggy parchment, read the letter, and incinerated it with his wand.

"So," Cho asked, as he reached her.

"My men in Berlin have captured Longbottom, and they await us in Iskenduran, I feel sorry for the man, shameful surname. Anyway, they were given some trouble by a red-haired man, he even knocked out one of my operatives."

"Weasley."

"Bless you."

"No. Ron Weasley. One of Harry's friends from school. It seems we weren't the only ones with secrets."

"My dear," Vogol sighed, "you seem far too pleased by that."

When they reached the cars, Vogol waited as Cho got in. he turned to a Death Eater standing beside the car. If Weasley was involved, who knew who was? It was best to play it safe.

"D'you know the eastern dining room?"

"I've seen the room, sir."

"Good man. There are to prisoners there. I want you to go and give them my regards. And then kill them."

"Understood."


	10. Chapter 10: Up In Flames

Chapter ten: up in flames

Back in the eastern dining room, Harry and Hermione's situation had not improved, nor had it worsened. Harry wrestled against his bonds, but whey remained tight, cutting into his flesh. Even their legs were tied at the ankle to the chairs, restricting movement even further. They were unable to help each other, Hermione's hands were tied behind her, but Harry's were in front of him, so there was no chance of them untying each other.

Harry strained at the ropes again, twisting to the right. It did no good, but Harry felt something dig into his leg. It took him a moment to realize what was in his pocket. He had never put it back while looking through the mess in Cho's room, and forgotten about it. It was all Harry could do to keep from shouting for joy.

"Hermione."

"I'm still here."

"There's a box of matches in right pocket. See if you can reach them."

"Matches?"

"From the hotel in Venice, don't ask."

He twisted as far as he could to the right, hoping to help Hermione as much as he could. She strained at her bonds, this time reaching behind her. Her fingers brushed his trousers, she groaned as she twisted even farther. Her left hand dipped ever so slightly into his pocket, and caught ahold of the matches between two fingers. She carefully drew them out into her grip.

It was nearly as agonizing for Harry as it was for her, as no matter how far he tried to turn his head, he couldn't quite see what she was doing.

Hermione herself couldn't see her hands either, and so, screwing her eyes shut, focused on her numb fingers, trying to navigate the matches by touch. By sheer luck, she was able tear out a single match, and rub it across the lighter strip. After three tries, it sparked, and caught fire. Hermione felt the heat on her fingers, and tried to angle it against the rope. As she did, the flame met the palm of her hand, burning it. She gave a little squeal, and reflexively dropped the matches.

"What?" Harry asked, wishing he were able to see.

"Nothing. Just a little…surprised." Hermione cast her gaze around, searching for the little book of matches. She saw it, beside her chair, burning. The flames licked at the rich carpet about it, and caught. The flame spread, blackening the carpet as it caught.

"Um, Harry."

"I'm still here."

"Yeah, the floor's on fire."

"What!" Harry looked back again, and saw the fire, growing into a small blaze. "What did you do?"

"I got surprised. Now it's burning the chair."

"Move!"

"What?"

"Move. Like this." Harry orchestrated his point by shaking his chair, scooting foreword a few inches. Hermione caught on, and they began moving across the room at a painfully slow pace.

"It's starting on the table," she said, conversationally.

The flames spread up the antique wood of the table, and danced along its long surface. The room filled with smoke, as the flames burned through the carpet, and started up the walls, devouring tapestries, paintings, and cabinets of ancient weaponry.

"Go to the fireplace," Harry shouted. Ironically, it was the only part of the room not in danger of being devoured in the growing blaze.

As the room fell apart around them, Harry and Hermione scooted their chairs. They reached the massive fireplace, and slid into it, wood scraping at stone. Hermione watched as flames sprouted up, blocking their way to the room's only exit. Or so she thought.

Now that they were as safe as they could be, considering the situation, Harry focused his attention back on the ropes binding his hands. They had loosened, through a combination of heat, and movement. As he tore at them enthusiastically, his foot struck out and kicked one of the stone bricks of the fireplace. It slid inward, and there was a click as the inside of the fireplace, built on a hidden rotating platform swung around.

Harry and Hermione found themselves in a room with a bare stone floor and walls. It was filled with desks, and at its center was a table with a detailed map of Europe laid out on it. The room was occupied by five Death Eaters, four men and a woman, their superior.

Feeling the gust of hot air, one of them looked up. He saw the room's new occupants, a man and woman, tied to two chairs, back-to-back, and gaped. The man had a scar on his forehead, shaped like a lighting bolt. "Oiy," he shouted, pointing. "It's Harry Potter."

The others looked up. The two visitors smiled shyly. Harry ventured a little wave. As bizarre as the situation was, the female Death Eater knew exactly what to do.

"Kill them!" she ordered, pointing at the pair, before plunging into her coat to seize her own wand. Harry shrugged, and kicked the brick again. The fireplace slid around once more, leaving the Death Eaters behind.

Without wasting time, the woman led her squad to the secret entrance. They crowded aboard the rotating wheel, and she jabbed the brick with her wand. The wheel turned again.

For the Death Eater and men, it felt as though they had plunge into a furnace. The eastern dining room was barely recognizable, burning as it was. She saw no sign of the prisoners, but for an abandoned pair of chairs smoldering in the flames, draped with slim black cords. Carefully, she advanced into the flames.

Behind the squad, Harry dropped out of the chimney, where he had scrambled to hide; Hermione let herself down after him.

Harry seized the last Death Eater by the throat, and slammed his head into stonewall of the fireplace, knocking the man out before he could alert his fellows. Harry shoved the unconscious Death Eater away, but not before taking the man's wand. Though not his own, he had bested its owner, and by right, it was now his for all intents and purposes.

Hermione hit the brick trigger once again, and the wheel slid around, depositing them back in the room where they had found the Death Eaters. Harry tapped a wand to it, and a silvery sheen spread across the hidden entrance, sealing it for the time being. Harry hated to think he had doomed five people to burn to death, and assured himself they would find a way out.

"That's a slight improvement," said Hermione, "but what about that." She pointed at the room's official exit. Harry realized that it was sealed; in much the same way he had shut the fireplace door.

Hermione fell into a chair, yawning. Harry refused to sit. He began pacing, ignoring the pounding coming from the other side of the fireplace door. "There has to be something we can do, some way to escape. There always is."

"Well," Hermione sighed, "Why don't we just find it then."

"That's sort of what I meant," Harry sighed, searching the ceiling.

"There," said Hermione, indicating a section of the floor near the center of the room, on square of furniture or other adornment. "Either there's a vampire in here, or it's a way out."

Harry followed her gaze, and saw she was right. There was a square of the floor that appeared to be sparkling faintly around the edges. However, when he tested it with his foot, it came through as entirely solid.

Harry looked over the map of Europe, and suddenly remembered India. The events of over a year ago, that still filled his nightmares.

_"Alahamorha!"_

Under the spell, the square of stone floor faded, with a faint sparkling, and was gone. Hermione got up and went to stand by him. They stared down a flight of steps descending into the darkness. "How…" she whispered.

"Illusion," Harry said, allowing himself a knowing smirk. "That spell isn't only for unlocking stuff, it also shows when something that appears real isn't really there, or the other way around. Ron showed it to me, saved us a lot of trouble in India."

"Did he now," Hermione murmured, half to herself. "Brilliant. Well, let's go."

The stairs led them out into a sort of dock underneath the castle, built into the river. The light of the early morning sun shone in, warming Harry's face. "So," asked Hermione. "Shall we." She indicated a row of rubber boats tied to the dock.

Harry shook his head. "Absolutely not, I've had it up to here with boats," he indicated a spot a foot over his head.

He glanced around, looking for another option. Then he saw it, only one, lying on a worktable, surrounded by tools. It wasn't the latest and greatest, but it was in good condition, and it was by far Harry's favorite way to travel.

Harry grabbed the broomstick, feeling the smooth wood under fingers. "No. We're flying out of here."


	11. Chapter 11: Joust

Chapter eleven: joust

_This wasn't exactly what I had in mind, _Harry thought, gritting his teeth. "What is this," he shouted behind him, to Hermione. She was seated behind him on the broom, her arms strung tightly around his waist.

"They must have put some kind of locking spell on the broom," she replied, "just so people like us wouldn't be able to escape with it, like we're doing right now."

"Can you remove it?"

"Maybe, but not while we're moving."

Harry groaned.

He and Hermione had been able to use the broom, but it was fighting them every step of the way. It shook and wrestled erratically, it refused to move over thirty mph, and it wouldn't elevate over five feet. Harry was feeling it would be wiser just to abandon the thing and travel to Turkey by foot.

At least it wasn't raining, though Harry still felt the moisture in the morning chill.

"Um, Harry," Hermione shouted over the air rushing past.

"What now."

"You aren't going to like this, but look up."

Harry followed her instructions, and groaned again. High above, and gaining quickly, we're four dark-clad men on broomsticks that were not at all handicapped. The Death Eaters had discovered their escape. Harry wasn't surprised; they hadn't been very subtle, what with the fire, which he had decided to blame solely on Hermione.

"You're right," he replied. "I don't like it."

They had been following a deserted road. Ahead, it forked, the main road sloping downward, a higher trail leading up onto the hillside. Harry, flying low enough that it made a difference, chose the left, and plunged down, the broom vibrating beneath him.

Above, three of the Death Eaters dove, speeding toward their prey. The fourth speed foreword, hoping to block of their escape ahead. This would be easier than they had expected.

Meanwhile, a gate came into view, blocking the road ahead of Harry and Hermione. It was made of metal, and was so tall, that their handicapped broom couldn't clear. A sign on it proclaimed in three different languages that they were now leaving Austrian territory.

Harry risked taking on hand away from the head of the broom, and seized his wand.

_"Bombardre!"_

The spell hit the gate, and tore through it. He metal gate was hurled across the tarmac, raising sparks, until it came to rest, crumpled. Harry sped over it without a second glance.

A spell shot past their left, and Harry looked back to see that three of the Death Eaters had pulled down level with him, racing a few feet above the road.

He took a sharp turn, onto a flat starch of road. He saw the fourth Death Eater speeding toward him, on a direct collision course. Harry gritted his teeth, and raised his wand.

_"Stupefy!"_

_ "Protego!"_

Harry's spell was easily knocked away. The brooms sped toward each other. The breath was forced from Harry as Hermione's grip tightened. Within seconds they would run head on into each other. The Death Eater could handle it, but Harry knew he wouldn't be able to fight these opponents on the ground, assuming he survived. He cast his mind about for another spell, one that could not be blocked.

Death Eaters. The dark mark. Snakes.

_"Serpensortia!"_

A long emerald serpant exploded from the tip of Harry's wand. it shot foreward, Harry heard its scream of horror and confusion, as it collided with the Death Eater. The man screamed as the snake sank its fangs into his arm, and he lost control of his broom, tumbling off it to road, wrestling with the serpent.

The rider-less broom shot over Harry's head, colliding with one of the pursuing Death Eaters. He was knocked from his broom, and grabbed the man beside him for support, pulling them both down.

Harry looked back at Hermione, allowing himself a small smirk of triumph. It wasn't everyday he dispatched three opponents with a single spell. Hermione said nothing, but appeared a little green.

Harry turned back just in time to make a wide turn, heading uphill. He was jolted up as something slammed into the broom. He looked over to see the last Death Eater; the man had just rammed into their broom, and now pulled up along side. Harry tried to swerve away, but with their broom fighting as it was, it was impossible.

The man swung back toward them, he grabbed Hermione by the collar of her shirt, and swerved away, trying to pull her off. He screamed as she dug her teeth into his arm, but kept hold.

Harry knew he had to do something, and shouted the first spell that came to mind.

_"Obscuro!"_

A black blindfold materialized over the Death Eaters eyes. Letting go of Hermione, he tore at it, and veered away, off of the road. His broom collided with a tree, and he was thrown to the ground.

He was quickly left behind, as Harry and Hermione sped away, their broom as bothersome as ever. After navigating a few more turns, the road forked, a sign advertised that one way led to Berlin, the other to Venedig.

Harry made to head toward Venedig, but Hermione shouted, "Stop!" in his ear. Harry was all too happy to oblige, anything to get of the irksome broom. They dismounted, and he tossed in into the grass beside the road.

Now that the castle was far behind, Harry realized that his whole body ached. He was tired, not having slept for over a day, and just as hungry. He could still taste smoke at the back of his throat, and wanted water most of all. Still, he had accomplished what he had hope too by this shortcut. Hermione was alive and well. And he had discovered his enemies. All of them.

He turned back to Hermione. "I figured we'd go to Venedig, there we can get a flight to Turkey. We may even make it there before the Death Eaters."

"No," said Hermione. "We need to go to Berlin."

"Why? Neville has the map in turkey."

"But we still need the diary."

"But why?"

"Do you think the cup of Christ is just sitting there waiting for anyone to claim it? There's more to finding the Grail then just following the map. Much more."

Harry groaned. "Can't you remember?" he said, not caring that he was whining.

She crossed her arms across her chest, knowing she had won. "I wrote them down so I wouldn't have to remember."

Harry sighed. I looked up at the signpost. **BERLIN **it read, almost invitingly. "Before we start, can you please take that stupid blocking jinx of this broomstick?"

Hermione smirked. "I would love to."


	12. Chapter 12: Retrieving The Diary

Chapter twelve: retrieving the diary

Night had fallen over Berlin. Some time ago, in fact, it was nearing midnight. The moonlight reflected off the modern steel roof of Allmen insurance co. Though their rates were high, and their benefits poor, Allmen was a legitimate insurance company, with real customers. And since for the past six years it had also been the formal headquarters of the organization called the Death Eaters.

The building fit in with the business district around it, but its walls were six feet of solid concrete, and it was outfitted with the latest in efficient security systems, both wizard and muggle.

Still, Cho Chang did not feel safe.

Despite the late hour, and her drooping eyelids, she was seated in a dark impersonalized office. Before her, on the desk, was Hermione Granger's Grail diary. She had been searching it for the last hour, feeling with every turn of a page that she was missing something, that in every line of Hermione's neat handwriting, there was hidden meaning, vital for survival, mocking her.

She was cold, despite the several empty coffee cups on the table before her. As this wing of the building was sparsely populated at night, Vogol had not spent much of their funding to keep it heated. Shivering, she pulled her knees up under her chin, hugging her legs to her chest.

That was when she heard the noise.

It was short of sigh, like the whispering of the wind, but not the slightest breeze penetrated this part of the building. She tried to reassure herself that it was nothing more than the building itself, but she couldn't. Whoever it was, an ignorant employee or wandering Death Eater, it reminded her how very tired she was.

Vogol had promised her they would travel to Iskenduran the coming day, and would depart into the desert the next day. She needed to rest.

Cho got up, slowly, stretching. She stepped back into her flat shoes, and, taking the diary, left the office. Planning to return to her small room in the troop barracks beneath.

Her plans were dashed as soon as she stepped outside.

It was much darker in the hall, as she trod lightly foreward, a shape moved in the blackness. Then she was shoved roughly into the wall. She doubled over, winded and surprised, and groped for her wand.

Before she reached it, her attacker was on her again, slamming her back into the wall. One hand was pressed tightly over her mouth; the other held a glowing wand to her neck, pressing into her skin. The light revealed her attacker. It was Harry Potter.

Cho had expected it. She had seen the message relating Harry's escape from the castle, leaving a trail of wreckage and destruction. She knew he would now be even more determined to beat them to the Grail, and that the map in the diary would be necessary.

But why did it have to be her. She had felt that, in Venice, they had earned some mutual respect, if not friendship, through their ordeal. But now she saw only hate in his eyes.

"Where is the diary, Chang," he hissed.

"I-I have it. I'll give it to you." Harry loosened his grip slightly, giving her enough mobility to remove the diary from a pocket inside her jacket, where she had put it for safekeeping. He snatched it from her grip, and slid into the pocket of his jeans. Never did he take his eyes away from hers.

"Harry," she whispered. "Don't go to Turkey, Vogol will kill you. It doesn't matter if your trying to find the Grail or not, he wants to see you die."

"And what do you care if he does," He replied, his voice unwavering.

"I don't want you to get hurt, you don't have too, I can help you. I believe in the Grail, not the dark mark."

Harry glared back at her, as he spit her words back in her face. "You made your choice, I made mine."

Harry turned, pushing her away. Cho stumbled on her bad leg, and fell. He didn't look back.

A voice rang from farther down the hall, Hermione's. "Harry, we need to go. How long does it take to get a book, anyway?"

"It's always Hermione, isn't it." Cho whispered. She hadn't meant for Harry to hear, but he looked back.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

And then he was gone.

"We can't take a flight to Turkey," Hermione whispered, once had put Allmen insurance co. a few blocks behind. "Vogol's men are watching the airlines, we'd never make it."

"What do you expect us to do, hitchhike," Harry growled. His encounter with Cho had left him bitter and cynical about their chances.

"No, but I thought we could look into this," and she handed him a glossy flyer.

Harry was greeted by a photo of a huge zeppelin. Below, text in both German and English advertised the return of a classic form of transportation. The first of five such vessels, outfitted for affordable comfort, without the hassles of plane travel, was set to depart n it's maiden voyage-

"Wait, that's tomorrow," exclaimed Harry.

"Exactly, you said yourself we need to leave as soon as possible. It'll be stopping in Turkey, I already checked."

"Okay, but this is going to be a huge event. With the muggle press, and everything, how is that supposed to be inconspicuous?"

"Vogol is expecting us to be inconspicuous, therefore, we'll be hiding in plain sight."

Harry didn't like it; he didn't like it at all. But there also wasn't enough time to find another option.

He was going to ride in his first zeppelin.

Harry and Hermione spent a sleepless night hiding in Berlin. The following morning, they joined the crowd gathered in a wide field, nearby the sprawling airport complex. All the tickets had been purchased months in advance, for surmountable costs, but being a wizard, Harry had no trouble procuring two tickets from a pair of wealthy muggles. He felt tremendously guilty about it, but figured that they would understand had they known how much was at stake. And with their memories adjusted, they joined the crowd of spectators without a second thought.

Harry and Hermione pushed past the crowd of cameras and microphones, acknowledging none of them, to board the aircraft. Harry made sure they were not bothered, and soon they were sitting comfortably across from each other, beside an open window.

A cool breeze blew inside, bringing with it the noise of the bustle without. Harry couldn't relax; he wouldn't be able to relax until they were safely in Iskenduran, with the Grail in their possession.

Harry excused himself, and left the table. Hermione watched him go, striding down the aisle, slipping through the crowd of muggles, and then returned to flipping through a flyer, describing the zeppelin's complicated workings.

It was very interesting, and she didn't look up, until she heard the shifting of a very large person sitting down across from her. When she saw who it was, however, it was all she could do not the scream.

"Please, miss Granger," said Horace Slughorn, "I need to speak to you. Do not be alarmed."

"Go on," she said through gritted teeth, "and count yourself lucky I don't have a wand on me."

"Yes, well, my dear girl, your disappointment is understood entirely. Let me just say this, I am no Death Eater. Vogol's organization is the only way I have to get to the Grail. After it is in my possession, there is no reason for them to exist. They are simply a tool, not unlike Mr. Potter's D.A. so many years ago."

"So why are you here?"

"I wish to warn you, and plead with you. Give up this crusade. You are outnumbered, and barely armed. You have no chance against the Death Eaters, and if you try to stop us, I will not discourage Vogol from dealing with you permanently. If you give up, and leave us be, I have no doubt you be perfectly safe in this new world order.

"Mr. Potter doesn't see this logic. He sees us all as inherently evil, and must, as in the muggle tale of Moby Dick, chase us like Ahab after his whale. But you I can trust to hear me out. I don't want to see either of you hurt, that's all."

Hermione didn't know what to say. "I'm not sure…"

But before she could finesh her sentence, Harry was there; wearing a hat he had 'borrowed' from one of the stewards. Disregarding his wand, he punched the elderly man square in the face. Then, with a grunt of effort, heaved his former teacher out the window.

Harry looked around at the shocked faces of his fellow passengers, Hermione included. "Um, stay calm everyone," he said. "That man was carrying Gatorade."

As the muggles returned to their seats, satisfied with his explanation, Harry sat down again. "What did he want," he asked, quietly.

"He had a point," said Hermione, "I'm almost sorry you threw him out the window."

"Go on."

"Like Cho, he doesn't want to see us hurt." Harry felt Cho would not at all mind seeing Hermione hurt, but he held his tongue.

"If we give up now, we'll be left alone in the new world order," she continued. "Even if it is the Death Eaters calling the shots, it isn't Voldemort. We'll still have our family; you'll still have Ginny. We don't have to get ourselves killed trying to get to the Grail ahead of a small army."

They met each other's gaze in silence, which lingered for a moment.

"Nah," they said together.

"So where were you," Hermione questioned.

"I got a letter," Harry replied. He pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it to Hermione. As she read it, she broke into a smile.

Harry

_What's going on? I've been in Iskenduran a few days now on business, when I run into our friend Neville Longbottom. And if that isn't enough, he gets kidnapped right afterward by some blokes who say they're from a museum that isn't even real. Not only that, but in the process I get attacked by this girl. She had a dark mark, Harry. I know this has to have something to do with you; it's got you written all over it. Are the Death Eaters coming back, and why do they want Neville? Are you coming to Turkey to sort it out?_

_Your mate,_

_Ron Weasley_

_PS: give Ginny my love._

_PPS: please reply, with some answers._


	13. Chapter 13: By Land Or Sea

Chapter thirteen: by land or sea

The next thing Harry did was write Ron a short reply. He said that the Death Eaters were indeed a threat, and that they would soon be arriving in Iskenduran. He said nothing of the Grail, however, specifying only that they were in search of an item, which they must be kept from at all costs. He also added that he and Hermione would soon be arriving in Iskenduran as well, and to meet them, as they could use his help.

The three of them, it would be just like old times.

After that, Harry and Hermione ate airplane style food in silence. The food was poor, but Harry was hungry and would not have protested a second helping. After that, how tired he was really set in. he was still feeling the after effects of the battle in Venice, let alone his escape from castle Brunwald.

Unconsciously, Harry drifted off. When he woke, Hermione was still across from him, but it was warmer, and he watched the unfamiliar green countryside peel away beneath, moving into the distance to join with a calm ocean.

He shifted, his neck aching from resting at an odd angle, Hermione looked up.

"Good morning, or rather afternoon," she said brightly, looking up from the diary.

"Morning," Harry yawned. "So, that book."

"What about it?'

"Why did we go back for it?" he held up a hand to stop her from answering prematurely, "I know there's more to finding the Grail than following the map, but what specifically."

"Alright," she thumbed through the book, finding a specific entry. "When we reach the Grail's resting place, we must face three challenges, intended to keep the wicked away from the cup's incredible power.

"The first, 'the breath of God,' only the penitent man shall pass. Second, 'the word of God,' only in his word will he proceed. And finally, third, 'the path of God' only in an act of faith shall he prove his worth."

They sat in silence, letting the ominous words sink in. "So what is that supposed to mean?" asked Harry, finally.

Hermione laughed, "I haven't the slightest idea. But I guess we'll find out."

"I hope so," Harry muttered. He looked back out the window. The ground twisted away beneath, it didn't seem quite right. Then he felt the motion as the zeppelin swept about in a wide u-turn.

"Oh no, not already," Hermione protested. The zeppelin was going back to Germany. Vogol must have discovered their escape route. Whether through Slughorn or not, Hermione didn't care. But they couldn't afford to stay.

Harry was already standing in the aisle, "We have to get off," he said, pulling her up. "This is just going to cause a ton of mind-wipes." He rummaged in the luggage compartment over their booth, already gaining questioning looks. These intensified all the more as he produced their newly acquired broomstick; the same that had carried them away from Brunwald castle. Hermione was grateful she had taken the time to remove its locking charm.

Knowing it was best to do this as quickly as possible, Harry pushed open the window, air rushed into the passenger section. Harry climbed to the window ledge, mounted the broom, made sure Hermione was securely behind him, and kicked out into open air.

There was nothing like flying. As flying went, there was nothing like flying by broomstick. Now that the broom was at maximum performance, Harry truly appreciated its feeling of freedom, as the zeppelin retreated into the difference.

Harry was about to ask which direction Turkey was in, sure Hermione would know, when a jet of red light shot past beneath them. Harry looked to its source, dreading what he might see.

He wasn't disappointed. Speeding through the air toward them were two darkly clad men on broomsticks. Vogol had sent a reception.

As the two men gained on them, Harry dodged and weaved, trying to shake them off his tail. He was not successful, and harmful spells got closer and closer every time he dived, dodged, or changed direction.

Harry was a better flyer than either of these men, but he had been through a lot of this sort of thing during the past few days, and he was getting tired. It did nothing to help that his broom bore the weight of two.

They had no chance of out flying the Death Eaters, but outfighting them was a possibility. Harry reminded himself they had dealt with twice this many over a day ago.

"Hermione," he shouted, pulling the length of wood from his waistband. "Take the wand, see what you can do."

Though his words were ripped away by the wind, Hermione got the message. Taking the wand, she retaliated with spells of her own.

Her first jinx went wild. Hermione was a decent duelist: along with becoming an auror, she was a DA alumnus who had fought in the second war, but she still wasn't used to spell work while atop a speeding broom.

More carefully, she tracked one of their persuers as he sped past overhead. Her spell charm would have knocked him out of the air, but the Death Eater managed to block.

The broom jerked beneath them. It twisted to the right, without Harry's urging, and rolled. Both of them would have fallen of, had Harry not kept a death grip on the broom's handle, and Hermione knit her arms tightly around his waist.

Harry cursed, he recognized these symptoms, remembered them from his first year at Hogwarts, his first Quidditch match. Professor Quirril, who had been a vessel for the shattered soul of Voldemort, had jinxed Harry's broom, trying to kill him. The same was happening now, and there was no Severous Snape here to save them.

The broom's movement became more erratic and violent. Both Hermione and their persuers had halted their exchange of spells, the latter to watch what was sure to be an interesting death.

Harry knew their only chance was to get to the ground. He urged the broom downward, against its wishes, and, taking the wand, tapped it, whispering.

_"Petrificus Totalus."_

The broom was immobilized, and Harry and Hermione fell screaming to the ground below. They landed in a field of sprouting plants, the outskirts of a farm. The ground was soft, but Harry still groaned in pain as he straightened. He saw the black specks above growing ever closer. They couldn't afford to stay put.

Seizing Hermione's hand, he sprinted beside her, as the Death Eaters rushed over the field. As they reached it's end, vaulting a fence into the yard of the farm, the barn behind them burst into flames.

Harry knew that if they stayed on foot they were dead. As the Death Eaters circled back for another run, he spied an aged black car in the driveway of the antique farmhouse. Pulling Hermione behind him, he ran to it.

It took nothing more than a few taps of the wand to unlock the doors and start the engine. Harry pulled out the driveway, and floored the accelerator as the turned onto a deserted road. He swallowed the guilt from stealing the car. Their lives were in danger, and regret wouldn't help him now.

A low mountain range sprang up ahead of them. Harry shifted into a higher gear. He had no idea where their persuers were, and wasn't eager to find out. Ahead, the road disappeared into the mountain face; Harry realized there was a tunnel carved into the rock.

His questions were answered as a jet of energy punched the car's roof, crumpling it inward. He swerved to the left as another spell impacted the tarmac beside them, forming a small crater.

Harry drew a deep breath as they sped into the half-light of the tunnel. He was jolted back into reality, as their rear window imploded, showering them with broken glass. One of the Death Eaters had followed them into the tunnel, in what Harry saw as an amazing show of flying skill. The Death Eater pulled up beside them, but Harry was ready.

_"Confringo!" _

Flames exploded from Harry's wand. The Death Eater's broom was incinerated instantly, his burning body thrown to the road, where it was left behind.

"Lovely," said Hermoine. Harry had nearly forgotten she was there.

"He was trying to kill us," he protested, trying to justify the man's death.

"It still wasn't right."

"What's right or not doesn't make much of a difference in our line of work."

And then they were out of the tunnel, back under the bright sun. Harry caught a whiff of ocean air, and saw that they were on a sharp rise overlooking a deserted beach. He didn't have long to take in the site.

The ground in front of them exploded upward, at the impact of an expertly placed spell. It tore into the front of the car, destroying the engine, shearing the hood in half. What was left of the car was thrown, spinning, down a twenty-foot drop to the white sand of the beach.

Harry crawled out of the wreckage of the car, coughing, and feeling even guiltier now that it had been totaled. He looked up to see the last Death Eater bearing down on him. He could see the raised wand. That was when he realized his own wand was not in his grasp.

He saw it, lying on the sand fifteen yards away. There was no way he could reach it before the Death Eater cut him down. As he threw himself toward it, the sand where he had been erupted in another explosion. He stumbled, the wand still to far away, as the Death Eater returned for another pass.

Hermione Granger seized the wand from its resting place, and stood, legs apart, facing the approaching Death Eater. She did not hesitate, but leveled it, and shouted two spells in succession.

_"Avis! Oppugno!"_

A flock of small, powder blue, birds burst from wand's tip. They streamed into the air, surrounding the Death Eater. They tore at his skin with their beaks, ripped his clothes with their claws. He screamed one last time as, engulfed by the flock, he plunged into the ocean.

Hermione turned, and tossed Harry the wand. "I think I see what you mean," she said, sighing.

Harry got to his feet, speechless.

"So, where are we anyway?" she asked.


	14. Chapter 14: March Of The Death Eaters

Chapter fourteen: march of the Death Eaters

Turkey was warmer than Cho had grown accustomed too. A bit warmer than she liked as well. Still, it was a necessary discomfort, and one she could live with.

She sat, alone at a table, in the corner of a stone courtyard, open to the sun. She was not sure quite what the building was, other than that it had something to do with the nations government. Equally vital to the government were the men they were meeting with.

They were a party of four, herself, Vogol, and two Death Eater escorts. Both were sulking in the courtyards shadows. Vogol, however, stood in its center speaking animatedly to a company of sharply dressed dignitaries.

Slughorn had opted to stay at the hotel, while they squared things with the muggle government, who, despite their considerable handicap, would notice and make a fuss about such massive troop movements through the surrounding desert.

Cho wished she had joined him. She was hot. She was thirsty, and she was bored. She kept thinking of the previous night, in Germany. Harry. He hated her, hated what she had become, and so did she.

But, as she kept reminding herself, this wasn't he-who-must-not-be-named; the Death Eaters were simply a tool with which she would save the world.

She glanced up as Vogol crossed the courtyard to her, the discussion ended. As she got up, he grabbed her by the shoulders, grinning wildly. She shrank away from his touch, surprised by the childish gleam in his eyes.

"So, you were successful, I assume," she said.

"Very," he answered, beaming. "Not surprisingly, they are happy to help. A little unforgivable cursing goes a long way, as they say. We have their complete permission to travel in and out of the country as we please. They shall even provide us with muggle transportation, which will make the travel through the desert all the more enjoyable.

"And miss Chang," he smiled all the more, like a boy on Christmas morning. "We even get a tank."

The trip too Iskenduran was uneventful, from the point of their crash landing by the Mediterranean Sea on, though it took longer than Harry would have liked. Ron was waiting for them in Iskenduran, but there was no time for heart-felt reunions.

As Harry had dreaded, losing the zeppelin had cost them precious time. Vogol, along with a small army of Death Eaters, had already departed into the desert.

"I'm sure they took, Neville with them," Ron said. "But, Harry, there's at least a hundred of them, there's no way we can fight our way through that many Death Eaters."

"We shouldn't need too," said Hermione. "We just need to beat them to the canyon. With that many men, they'll be slow. We can pass them up, and be gone before they arrive."

"But what about Neville," said Ron, "As soon as they find the Grail, they'll kill him; no doubt."

"Leave that to me," said Harry. The others could see the fire in his eyes as he said this. One way or another, Vogol was going to regret having crossed the chosen one.

The convoy was very impressive. It was also, as Hermione had predicted, very slow. Made all the slower by the fact that there was no set road, and they were forced to drive across dunes of sun-bleached sand.

Neville gazed around him at the scenery, bemused. He felt only slightly interested. He had no doubt that Harry would come for him. Harry always came, even back from the dead. It was only a matter of when.

The Death Eaters, however, were certainly a formidable force. The convoy was made up of several troop transports, trucks painted to blend in with the desert sand. It was in one of these that Neville sat, bound by black cords, produced from someone's wand. Across from him was Horace Slughorn, and beside the potions expert, Cho Chang. Neville had been just as surprised as Harry to discover she was a part of this.

The trucks were not alone. The convoy was flanked by Death Eaters on horseback. At its head was the tank. It could only be described as a monster. The sun glinted off its areas left uncovered by a coat of brown camo paint. Two tons of heavily armored metal, trundling foreward on twin mechanical treads. The main cannon was several feet long, and discharged a shell the size of Neville's head. As if that weren't enough, there were also two smaller guns set into the sides of the tank, slightly less powerful, but still deadly. To add to muggle perfection, as he had said, Vogol had made sure the tank had also been charmed to repel spell damage. It was amazing what the muggles would come up with to kill each other. Neville thought the tank had to be the most evil looking object he had ever seen. And right now it was entering a wide canyon, leading them ever closer to the Grail.

Slughorn paused to mop his brow, before taking a long swig from a bottle of lukewarm water. The heat was taking its toll on the old man. He had dressed, unwisely, in a forest green suit. While perfectly reasonable for teaching in the depths of an ancient castle, it was not practical for long desert journeys.

Beside him, Cho Chang was dressed more fittingly. In blue jeans, and a red tank top, Neville could see beads of sweat running down her arms.

"We can't be far now," said Slughorn, as if reading his Neville's mind. "Ten more miles and we're off the map."

"Exactly, old man," cried Vogol, vaulting into the truck and surprising all it's occupants. "After the canyon opens out, there's a step decent, and the valley below is where we believe the Grail to be."

"That's very nice, Mr. Vogol," Slughorn, spluttered, obviously flustered. "But what causes you to barge in on us."

"Oh that," the Death Eater replied. "Potter escaped the retrieval team we sent for him, and he's sure too make a move. And if were Potter, I'd do it right about here. So, I thought, why don't we move the prisoner into the tank, just to make it that much more interesting."

"Well, that's logical," said Slughorn, "do what you see fit with the poor lad." Even though it was obvious his opinion didn't matter one bit to Vogol.

As two men, clothed in the Death Eaters simple, dark uniforms, dragged Neville out of sight, Cho found herself thinking of Harry once again, willing him to stay away.

"There's Neville, he looks alive. Wait, no, no, they're putting him in the tank. That's not good, not good at all."

"Ron, you don't have to tell us everything," said Hermione, rolling her eyes, "We're watching the same thing."

The trio were stationed just over the rise, peering down around an outcropping at the Death Eater's below. Behind them was a black land rover, Ron's car.

They watched Neville dragged into the tank by the two Death Eaters. Vogol climbed out of the hatch on it's top, peering around at the ridges, as if he could see them. Though he knew how far away they were, Harry still held his breath instinctively. Until the sand shifted beneath his feet, he lost his balance, slipping outside the cover of the rock as he grunted.

Vogol, standing atop the tank, saw a small glint of light in the corner of his vision. It issued from the ridge above, not unlike that of sunlight reflecting off a pair of glasses…

Hermione watched as Vogol took a running leap of the tank, landing in a crouch, and felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was well founded.

The main barrel of the tank swung around toward them, there was a flash, and then she heard the crack of its discharge. The shell flew over her head, rippling her hair in its wake, to collide with the side of the land rover. In the resulting explosion, the car was blown in half, its burning metal carcass flung into the air.

"Aw, no," Ron shouted, "No. That car was a rental."

And then all hell broke loose.

As if on cue, some fifty men appeared in the canyon, loud cracks signifying their apparition. They wore white robes, and had primarily dark skin. Without delay, they attacked the caravan. The canyon floor quickly became a battlefield as the Death Eaters engaged the newcomers, spells flying everywhere, explosions hurling vehicles and men into the air.

"Who the hell are they?" Hermione shouted over the roar of the battle, as the three of them crept down into the canyon, under cover of the ledges and outcroppings.

"Haven't the slightest idea," Ron replied, "but I like them."

"Ron," Harry ordered, "Stay here with Hermione. I'm going to get us some new transportation." With that he jumped, and landed ten feet below in a crouch, sinking into the soft sand.

Through the rain of spells, Harry saw a Death Eater leading a couple of agitated horses through the fray. Perfect.

_"Stupefy!"_

Harry was running before the spell connected. The Death Eater tumbled back into the sand. Harry stumbled as an explosion beside him blew a geyser of sand into the air. Two of the white-robed men were hurled through the air, slamming into the cliff.

As Harry reached the horses, another Death Eater appeared in front of him. Without thinking, Harry reacted. A nonverbal spell hit his attacker. Harry sprinted past the man, who could barely keep his balance as his lower half danced wildly, kicking up sand.

Above, Ron looked away from Harry, to see that Hermione was already gone. With a sigh, he dropped the last few feet, and joined the melee, exchanging curses with a large Death Eater.

In scale a brutality, violence, and overall impact, this was the second worst battle Cho had ever been in. As she blocked a stray jinx, she wished she had stayed with Slughorn. Through the sea of combatants, she spied Vogol, dueling with three enemies at once. He looked to be enjoying himself. Well, that made one of them.

A jet of purple energy hit Cho in the shoulder, scorching into her flesh. She screamed, as she collapsed to her knees. She found herself looking down on one of the fallen attackers. His white-robe was stained with blood, and his breathing was shallow, his eyes nearly closed.

It was Kazim.

"So, it's the Brotherhood," Cho whispered to herself, as she knelt over him.

"Miss Chang…" Kazim whispered. "I always knew you were an enemy to God."

Cho put the point of her wand under his neck, her hand shaking, "I could kill you so easily."

"Could you, are you really a murderer, would you commit the unpardonable sin, have you slipped so far? Even now I go to meet my father. I know I will be rewarded, but you… For the unrighteous, the cup of Christ holds eternal damnation."

And, leaving these haunting words echoing in Cho's ears, Kazim died.

The tank trundled through the battle, crushing the dead and dying under its treads, Death Eater and brotherhood alike. Spells collided with its iron surface, and were absorbed by it's protective charms. Inside, it's masters sent destructive blasts out into the battle, killing wherever they impacted. They took no notice of the unarmed woman weaving through the battle toward them.

Hermione knew that most would view her actions, especially without a wand, as a form of suicide, but then again, this was what she was trained to do. A Death Eater collapsed in front of her, burned beyond recognition. She leapt over his corpse and vaulted onto the back of the tank.

There was a net on the rear of the tank, carrying vital supplies and equipment. Hermione used it to hasten her climb up to the main gun turret. The hatch was unlocked, and, easing it open, she dropped through into the main body of the tank.

It was dark inside, illuminated only slightly by the glimmer of displays, relating fuel levels, damage, and radio frequencies. There were only three occupants, other than her, though there was room for many more. Two Death Eaters, one the driver, the other taking the role of gunner, paid no attention to the newcomer.

Neville sat, bound, in the corner of the tank, resting against a box of ammunition for the tank's three guns. Hermione was grateful he didn't call out upon seeing her, but she could tell how relieved he was. She crossed to him quietly, and began working at the tight black ropes binding him.

"So I'm guessing Harry found you," he whispered.

"Yeah, that he did. He's here, just, well, not right here."

"Good, was that him, the men apperating?"

"No, we don't know who they are."

"The Brotherhood of the Cruciform sword," came a man's voice from behind Hermione, Vogol. "A most irritating group indeed, though nothing compared to yourselves."

The Death Eater's diminutive leader hopped down into the tank, followed by two other Death Eaters. One of them seized Hermione from behind, yanking her to her feet, pressing the tip of his wand into her throat. The other gave Neville a kick in the ribs, before searching Hermione. He produced the Grail diary, and handed Vogol the slim notebook.

"So, the journal of your search for the Grail," said Vogol. "One wonder's why it's so popular," he mused. Without warning, he hit Hermione across the face. The blow stung, and she felt a bruise forming on her cheek.

"You sent the map here, so why get the book from Berlin? What's so important about it?" Vogol hit her again; her head was thrown to the side from the force of the blow.

"What are you not telling us? What's waiting in the Grail's resting place? What else do you know?" He made to hit her again, but despite the wand at her throat, Hermione caught the blow in an open palm.

"I know that Harry Potter will stop you."

"He's outnumbered, out-"

"It doesn't make an ounce of difference, not when you're the chosen one."

"Sir," the gunner spoke up, twisting around in his seat, "Potter is getting away. Breaking off from the convoy."

"That sounds unlike him." Vogol mused. "Well, follow him," he stared into Hermione's eyes as he said, "It's time to kill the bloody fool, once and for all."

The battle between Vogol's men and the Brotherhood of the Cruciform Sword was drawing to an end. The Brotherhood had fought valiantly, but they had finally been smashed by the Death Eater's superior defenses. As the dark wizards combed the wreckage of the convoy, killing all the remaining Brotherhood operatives, a single dark-haired man galloped past atop a dark brown mare.

In his time, Harry had ridden more than his share of magical creatures, from the powerful Hippogriff, to the majestic Phoenix, but a horse was very different. It was obvious who was in control, and for once it was not the animal. The horse had been trained well, and it didn't take long for Harry to grasp the basics of controlling her. As the valley widened, he left the convoy far behind.

Harry looked back to see the tank accelerating, leaving the bulk of the Death eater forces behind, following him. Just where he wanted it. Behind the tank, a few troop transports crept foreward, those still in condition to follow.

There was a loud boom as the tank's main cannon fired toward Harry. The shell overshot Harry, impacting into a sand dune in a flash of flame. They had missed, but it meant that he was in range. The tank had superior firepower, but what about its maneuverability.

Harry turned the horse around, and galloped directly at the tank, speeding past it. The main gun tracked him, trying to get a fix on the rapidly moving target, and the tank swung about, making a sharp 180-degree turn.

It was a move that could have been better thought out, as the tank sped straight toward the remnants of the convoy. It slammed into a military-issue truck, and the main gun became stuck in the truck's canopy, the tank's frontal veiwports were completely covered.

Partially blinded, the tank spun away from the approaching trucks. The main gun fired again, and the truck was blasted off it. The tank didn't bother to skirt the burning truck, and simply barreled over it, flattening the vehicle.

Harry felt a sinking in his stomach. Not only had his plan been unsuccessful, but also he had seen how little Vogol cared about his followers. How many men had been in that truck? Whatever the number, they were certainly all dead. And the metal monster hadn't received a single scratch.

Inside of the tank, Vogol and the men had forgotten their prisoners, absorbed in the chase. Neville was constrained from action, but Hermione crept to the view port at the tank's right side. She could see Harry, on the horse, slowing as he watched the tank destroy the truck. She watched the gunner maneuver the side cannon, until he was directly in its sights.

"Harry!" she shouted, willing him to notice the danger. Angry at her outburst, the gunner shoved her away. Hermione fell back to the floor of the tank, beside Neville.

Her cry was not in vain however, Harry heard her shout. Hermione was in the tank, he realized, and was suddenly glad it hadn't been destroyed. Then he saw the side gun fire.

There was no time to move, no time to dodge. The shell hit, in another explosion of flame. But when the smoke cleared, Harry and his mount were untouched.

A plan forming in his head, Harry urged his mount alongside the tank, directly in sight of its side cannon. With a shot nearly too good to be true, and a shell waiting to be let loose, the gunner's finger tightened on the trigger.

_"Protego!" _

The shield charm did not simply engulf Harry and his horse, as it had before, but formed a dome over the tank's side cannon, as it fired. There was an explosion as the cannon backfired, killing the gunner instantly. His head ringing from the noise, Harry saw that the side cannon had been torn apart, now resembling nothing more than a few strands of twisted metal. Harry urged his horse onward, circling behind the tank.

Inside the tank, the Death Eaters and prisoners coughed as the interior filled with choking black smoke. In search of fresh air, and disgusted with the muggle artillery, Vogol opened the top hatch, smoke billowing out around him.

_"Sectumsempra!"_

_ "Protego!"_

Vogol was surprised when Harry knocked his spell out of the air. He ducked back behind the turret as a jet of red light shot straight toward him, absorbed by the tank's armor.

Harry knew he wouldn't be able to duel from horseback for long. He also knew that there was no way he could bring down the tank from where he was, not without killing Hermione and Neville in the process. And so, trying on to think about what he was planning to attempt, he urged the horse forward.

As the animal came alongside the tank, Harry stood in the saddle, judging the distances. He clutched his wand, took a deep breath, and leapt.


	15. Chapter 15: Battle Of The Steel Beast

Chapter fifteen: battle of the steel beast

The impact with the tank knocked the wind out of him. Harry got to his feet, crouching. The tank jerked and shook as it traversed the rocky terrain, Harry took a deep breath, he glanced back, and saw the mare trotting away, unharmed. That was good, at least. He moved toward the hatch into the tank's interior, if there was anywhere he would be able do any damage, it was there.

That was when a jet of light hit him in the shoulder, tearing through his shirt. Pain ran down his arm, as Harry looked up to see that one of the trucks had pulled up alongside the tank. One of the Death Eaters in the back had leapt across onto the tank brandishing his wand, more were behind him, following him across the gap.

_"Stupefy."_

Harry's spell was half-hearted, and the Death Eater knocked it aside. As he did so, the man stepped back, in front of two other men, who had made it across.

_"Flipendo!"_

Harry's spell plowed into the first man, blasting him backward, into the others. Screaming, all three men tumbled off the tank.

Harry stared, amazed, as the troop transport pulled away, looping back to pick up the fallen Death Eaters. "I could have sworn they used to be more impressive," he muttered.

As if on cue, Harry screamed in pain as a long cut was opened on his back. He twisted away to see a fourth Death Eater, a woman, brandishing a long bone knife.

She slashed again, and Harry ducked away. He seized her wrist. In turn, she seized his wand hand. The two grappled, trying to dissuade each other's weapons. The woman spat in Harry's eyes, and kneed him in the groin. As Harry stumbled away, she came in, knife glinting in the sun.

Eyes watery from pain, Harry caught the knife in the palm of his hand, ignoring the blood dripping from his fist, and punched the woman in the face. She spun away, blood pouring from her nose; the knife went flying off the tank. She nearly followed it, but caught hold of the cargo net bolted to the tank.

Harry turned back toward the waiting hatch, and found himself face to face with Vogol. The slight slope of the tank allowed them to see eye to eye.

"Hi," said the Death Eater, giving him a winning smile.

Harry snarled, and lunged. Vogol dodged to side, and tripped Harry up. Harry slammed to the metal roof, beside the hatch. Vogol stomped on his wrist, and Harry's wand fell out of his grip, and into the tank.

Below, Hermione saw the wand fall with a thump to the metal floor of the tank, rolling. None of the Death Eaters noticed it, all absorbed in their jobs. The driver, still ignoring what was going on above. Another Death Eater stood, holding his wand on Hermione. Neville, still tied up, would be no help. Hearing the sounds of the fight above, neither would Harry. The wand was her only chance, but she would be cut down before she even reached it.

The third Death Eater moved to a periscope situated in the center of the tank, he watched the battle unfolding atop the tank.

Vogol slipped a loop of black rope around Harry's neck, cutting of his air supply. "You fight like a muggle," the Death Eater hissed in his ear, "I wonder if the mudblood below shares your preference."

Harry threw himself backwards; Vogol fell, Harry's full weight on top of him, but did not loosen his grip. Harry choked and sputtered, looking up to see the woman pull herself back onto the tank, her face smeared with blood. She lunged toward him, fingers splayed, ready to dig into his eyes. Harry kicked up; his heel caught her under the chin. The woman fell to the side, and onto the tank tread. She was pulled foreward and under, Harry tried to ignore the shriek as the tank flattened her.

Harry's lungs felt completely deflated, his vision blurred. He saw the periscope beside his head, watching him choked to death. Angrily, he lashed out, hitting it with a flailing arm.

In the tank, the periscope's handle spun around, hitting the Death Eater in the side of the head. The unconscious spectator fell onto Hermione, startling the Death Eater guarding her. Seizing the opportunity, Hermione shoved the unconscious soldier aside, onto Neville, and threw herself for on the wand.

As her left hand curled around it, the Death Eater hurled himself on top of her, grabbing her wrist. He pulled her to her feet, forcing the wand toward her own head.

Harry was unaware of the drama unfolding below. Vogol rolled him over, the rope still cutting into his neck. The smaller man shoved Harry's face into the tank tread. The metal tread tore into his check, ripping the skin and flesh away, as he screamed.

Through a haze of pain, and lack of air, Harry saw the troop transport looping back, having collected the fallen men.

Below, Hermione heard Harry's agonized scream. Her grip was faltering, as the Death Eater bent her wrist, poking the wand into her neck. Her free hand scrabbled in the pocket of her jeans, and caught hold of a rumpled quill. Without hesitation, she jabbed up the Death Eater's nose. He screamed shrilly, and let go, covering his face in his hands as he stumbled away, blindly.

Hermione's eyes were drawn toward the viewscreen, beside the oblivious driver. She glimpsed the troop transport pulling up alongside the truck. Without hesitation, she slipped into the gunner's abandoned seat, and squeezed the firing mechanism. The intact side gun fired point blank into the truck. With a deafening explosion, the truck was blown of its wheels, and plunged upside down into a sand dune, burning.

"What'd you do?" Neville asked, unable to see out of the tank.

"I just blew up a truck," she mumbled, partly in shock.

"Good for you, can you untie me now?"

The tank shook from the impact, and Vogol lost his grip around Harry's neck. As Harry gasped newfound air, the two men found themselves thrown onto the tank tread. Instinctively, Harry rolled to the right, and off the side of the tank.

He landed of the side cannon; the one shattered by his earlier spell, and held on for dear life. Vogol had rolled the other way, and stared down at Harry. He could have simply utilized the killing curse, but he was determined to slay Potter without magic. Vogol reached under the cargo net and pulled out a long-handed metal shovel.

The tank swerved to the left, skirting the side of the canyon. As the cannon's tip dug into the rock wall, gravel and dirt ran down into Harry's eyes. Ahead he saw an outcropping rapidly approaching, at what was almost a ninety-degree angle. If they stayed on course he would be flattened.

As if that wasn't bad enough, Vogol reached over the side of the tank and brought the shovel down on Harry's hands. Harry slipped, his feet dragged in the sand. Vogol slammed the shovel down again, and Harry's grip faltered again. He held on with one hand, watching the approaching outcropping in horror.

Inside the tank, Hermione went to Neville, stepping over the unconscious Death Eater. She was tackled, suddenly, from behind. Hermione fell to the floor, a Death Eater kneeling on her back. He pressed her cheek into the floor, as his other hand curled around her throat. She saw his face twisted in pain, blood seeping from a tightly shut eyelid.

Neville threw his full-weight into the Death Eater, knocking him away. As the Death Eater slammed his head on the metal floor, a jet of green light shot from the tip of his the wand in his grip. It ricochet through the cabin to collide with the tank's driver. The driver slumped forward onto the tank's controls. The tank jerked to the right, away from the coming outcropping and the canyon wall.

With newfound strength Harry pulled himself up, and climbed back onto the tank. Vogol tried to greet him with a blow from the shovel, but Harry was ready. He put all his anger into a single punch that drove into Vogol's face. The Death Eater spun away, and fell over the main gun.

Just as Harry was catching his breath, Hermione crawled out of the hatch onto the roof of the tank, followed by Neville, now freed. "I'm guessing this is just another normal day for you, Harry," she sighed, taking his hand to steady herself.

"Pretty mild, actually," he replied, though truth be told, he was exhausted. He stared past Hermione, as Vogol, blood trickling from a split lip, climbed back over the gun port, angry.

He prepared himself to dodge, as Vogol swung the shovel, but he was never the target. The metal head of the shovel hit Neville square in the face. Neville tumbled backward, and disappeared over the edge of the tank.

Vogol swung the shovel again, but this time Harry caught it. As he yanked the shovel away, Hermione grabbed Vogol, choking him with a chop to the neck. The Death Eater elbowed her in the ribs, knocking the wind out of her, and shoved her away. Hermione fell onto on of the tank treads.

Vogol punched Harry in the side of the head, but it was a glancing blow, and he ignored it. Tossing the shovel away, he backhanded Vogol across the jaw, and dived for Hermione, grabbing her hand.

Hermione screamed, as the tank's tread tore at her, trying to pull her under the tank. Its metal grips tore through her clothing, ripping at her flesh. Her fingers slipped through Harry's, as he strained to hold her up.

"Hermione, take my hand," Ron's voice rang out like a message from heaven. Harry looked up to see him galloping alongside the tank, in the saddle of a powerful black stallion. He grinned, and let go. Hermione rolled to the right, and Ron caught her, helping her onto the horse behind him, they peeled away from the tank.

Harry got to his feet slowly, turning to see Vogol also getting to his feet. He was hurt, he was angry, and he no longer had reason to hold back.

Vogol made for Harry's throat, but Harry punched Vogol in the stomach, driving the wind out of him. As the Death Eater doubled over, Harry grabbed his left arm, twisting it behind his back. He slammed Vogol's face into the main gun turret, again and again. When he finally let go, he expected the Death Eater to leap up, ready for more, but Vogol just lay limply, unmoving.

Harry straightened, looked around, and gasped. The tank was only a few yards from the edge of a cliff, overlooking a valley far below. As the tank sped for the cliff, Harry turned and ran. The tank tipped upward, as it tilted over the edge, time seemed to slow. Harry threw himself toward the sandy ground, but a vice-like grip closed around his ankle, holding him back.

Harry looked back to see Vogol. The Death Eater grinned, his teeth stained with his own blood. "See you in hell, Potter."

The tank plunged over the cliff, tumbled end over end, to disappear in a ball of fire on the valley floor.

"Oh, was he really…" Hermione whispered. She stood by next to Ron, staring down at the burning wreckage littering the canyon floor.

"I think so," said Ron, draping an arm around her shoulders, glad she didn't shy away.

"So is he…"

"Absolutely not. Well…" Ron shook his head, he couldn't believe it. Harry couldn't be dead. Harry was never dead, even when he got killed he couldn't be dead. But, the tank, the explosion…

"Now that was cliché." Groaning, Harry Potter dragged himself over the edge of the cliff. He rolled onto his back, panting. He was battered, bruised, and bloodied, but very much alive.

Ron and Hermione pulled Harry too his feet, and embraced him. It was a long time before the three friends pulled away.

"Well," said Harry "It looks as though Vogol is out of the game. Now all we need is to go get the Grail." But despite his bold words, he still couldn't help but shiver, this wasn't over yet, not by along shot.

"So," asked Neville Longbottom, stumbling toward them out of the deserts, holding a fist to a streaming nose, his round face smeared with blood. "What'd I miss?"


	16. Chapter 16: Canyon Of The Crescent Moon

Chapter sixteen: the Canyon of the Crescent Moon

When the tank had gone over the cliff, Harry had acted purely on instinct. He had lashed out with his foot, the heel of his shoe catching the already defeated Death Eater full in the face. Vogol lost his grip, and Harry threw himself upward, leaping off the tank even as it fell, carrying the Death Eater's commander in chief to his death. He caught hold of the rock face and, exhausted, pulled himself up some ten feet to the edge of the canyon, where his where mourning his demise.

But that had been a while ago.

Climbing a few feet up the rock face had been different than climbing down. While Harry had miraculously made his way up, there was no clear path to the canyon floor hundreds of feet below. But, Harry reminded himself, there had to be a way. Right?

His hopes were both heightened and dashed when he saw the vehicles. Two troop transports and a jeep. All military issue, all abandoned. No doubt at least some portion of Vogol's army had made it through. But what had they found.

They vehicles were parked near a narrow path, etched into the canyon wall. It stretched along the wall, all the way to the valley floor. It was a harrowing descent, with the breeze tearing at them, and their fatigue wearing them down, but eventually Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville made it to the base of the Canyon of the Crescent Moon.

They skirted the cliff face, dreading any attack, but none came. The four turned a corner, to find the true spectacle stretching upward. It was massive, built into the valley wall, a hundred feet tall; the entrance to the temple of the Grail was carved from reddish sandstone. It was sparsely decorated, but all the more awe-inspiring for it. Harry had seen photographs of a muggle historical sight known as Petra. What stood before him was remarkably similar.

"Should we knock?" asked Ron.

Harry shook his head, "No. No, from now on we're going to be as quiet as possible."

True to his word, the four were as silent as they could be as they ascended to stone steps to an arched entryway. It swallowed them, their steps echoing on the smooth stone floor.

Inside, it truly dawned on Harry that there was no way this place could only have been made by magic. There was simply no way muggle tools could have carved the antechamber into the mountain.

The ceiling sloped high above. The room itself was circular. Opposite the entrance, a smaller doorway opened into blackness, the only other exit from the room. Around the sides of the room, twelve stately statues watched over the chamber with dead eyes. The twelve apostles of Christ's ministry. In the center of the stone floor was engraved a massive cross, the same tattooed on the chests of the Brotherhood of the Cruciform sword. It was obvious what that signified.

They were not alone. Near the doorway, stood some of Harry's new least favorite people alive. Horace Slughorn, and Cho Chang. With them a dozen Death Eater's, looking somewhat unhappy that they were taking orders from an old potions professor, in the absence of their late leader. They had not seen the newcomers, attentive only too the doorway, and the darkness within it, listening to the drawn out scream from within

Hermione gasped, as did Neville, Ron, however, swore. As small as the noise was, it echoed in the massive chamber, and attracted the attention of its occupants. "Dear me," exclaimed Slughorn. "If it isn't the erstwhile Harry Potter. Mr. Longbottom, Miss Granger, I'm pleased to see both of you are well. And Mr. Weasley, this is a surprise."

"Your gang's really all here, isn't it Potter?" said Cho, much less friendly than Slughorn.

"Not really," said Ron, "I miss Luna."

By that time, the Death Eater's had surged forward, surrounding them. They had only two wands between the four of them, and all were simply too worn out to fight anymore. Their wands were confiscated, and they were led back to join Slughorn and Cho.

"Slughorn," Harry spoke softly, trying to catch the older man's attention.

"Horace, please."

"Whatever. What do you think you're doing? Do you want to be immortal? That's what Voldemort wanted. It made him a monster, you fought him yourself, have you forgotten? Now you're just the same. An old man who doesn't know when to quit. I've been dead before, it's not that bad."

Slughorn licked his lips, choosing his response carefully. "I do not fear death, but I do not anticipate it either. I do not seek the Grail for my own benefit, only to better mankind with its power."

"By making everyone immortal?" questioned Neville. "Can you imagine how crowded the Earth would get?"

"That's why we have birth control, Longbottom," said Cho. Harry wasn't sure if she was serious or not.

"Enough of this, we're supposed to be making history." Slughorn glanced over the Death Eater's, and pointed at one.

"You, with the black shirt, would you be so kind as to go fetch my discovery."

The Death Eater stood in front of the doorway, breathing deeply. He had to be younger than twenty, and he didn't try to hide his fear. With a last look back, he walked slowly forward into the corridor beyond, holding his wand before him.

None of them were able to tell what happened next, it was over so quickly. Harry felt a breath of cool air issuing from inside, and heard a soft sigh. Both were followed by a snick, and a thud. The group watched in horror as the boy's severed head rolled out into the chamber, its open eyes staring blankly in surprise.

Slughorn broke the silence. "Well, he always seemed rather rubbish. Anyone else want to try?"

There were no volunteers. That was when Ron found Slughorn's weakness. "Did you see that bloke just die," he entreated, turning to the Death Eater's. Slughorn sent him to his death, and then he asks who's next."

"Is that the kind of man you want to follow?" asked Hermione. "Vogol is dead, do you want some fat old man to take his place."

"Shut up," roared Slughorn. "The Grail is waiting for us, maybe if you all go at once, someone will make it. Then we'll all have a laugh, how's that sound?"

"Like a load of dung," said one of the braver Death Eaters, and his companions expressed their agreement.

"You know, you may be on to something," said Slughorn. "Harry, m' boy, you're trained for this kind of stuff. Why don't you go in, and we'll split the profits evenly?"

Harry planted an innocent smile on his face, "You're bloody kidding me," he said.

"Slughorn sighed, "I tried to be reasonable. But every man can only take so much. Miss Chang."

In the space of a few seconds, Cho slipped a narrow blade from the waistband of her jeans. She lunged and buried the knife in Hermione's stomach. Hermione gave a soft groan, and crumpled to her knees. Blood spread out across her t-shirt, a crimson stain rippling away from the knife's handle.

The Death Eater's made no move to stop their prisoners from surrounding the fallen woman. They lowered Hermione slowly to the floor. Harry found her pulse, it was faint, but beating, her breathing shallow but audible. Ron cradled her head in his lap, as Neville did his best to staunch the bleeding. Harry stood, facing Slughorn and Chang.

It was all he could do to keep himself from lunging at them, but he would be dead before he made contact. " A shame," said Cho. "The wound isn't so bad, it's the poison that will be the problem."

"I'm sorry," said Slughorn. "But I've been told you have something of a 'saving people thing'. If you go get the cup for me, we will not prevent you from using it to save your friend. Otherwise, poor miss Granger will be dead within the hour."

Harry let out a deep breath. He already knew what he was going to do. There was nothing else he could do. It was time to see what the three challenges were all about. "I don't suppose you'd let me have that wand back?"

"I don't suppose."

"I thought not."

"Harry," Hermione's whisper was weak, almost inaudible. He went to her, kneeling.

"I'll hurry," he said.

"No," she whispered, "You'll do it right," and she pressed a slim notebook into his hand. The original Grail Diary. With that, she lay back, overcome by coughing, blood trickling from her lips. Harry kissed her lightly on the forehead, and then he strode to the opening, not looking back.

The Grail awaited.


	17. Chapter 17: The Three Challenges

Chapter seventeen: the three challenges

Harry stood in the passages entrance for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness within. What he saw was a corridor filled with dust and cobwebs, roughly hewn into the rock. There was no sign of anything life-threatening at all. He opened the diary to the pages Hermione had showed him about the three challenges, and read.

_The Breath of God…only the penitent man shall pass. _

But what did that mean? It was time to find out.

Harry walked slowly foreward, stepping over the mutilated bodies of the two Death Eater's, their heads shorn cleanly from their shoulders, and tried not to be sick.

The penitent man shall pass. What would a penitent man do before the Breath of God?

Harry heard a grinding of gears. A breath of cool air washed across his face rippling the cobwebs before him.

The answer came suddenly, so obvious, so simple.

"The penitent man kneels before God," Harry said aloud, as he fell to his knees. A spinning circular, gleaming blade swept over his head, ruffling his hair in its wake. If he had been standing, it would have cleanly taken his head from his shoulders.

Shaken, yet filled with adrenaline, Harry crawled foreward, as the blade retracted into the wall. When he felt he was far enough away, he straightened up. "I'm through the first one," he shouted back. He received no answer.

The next challenge presented itself. Ahead, the floor was covered with tiles, fitted together in a sort of jigsaw puzzle. Each was marked with a letter in runic, but recognizable, script.

_The word of God…only in his word will he proceed._

The word of God would be the scriptures, Harry knew that, but what help would that be. Must he spell out a scripture using the floor tiles? Harry had no bible with him, and no verses came to mind. And if that was the case, what particular scripture could he be supposed to recount. No, the last challenge had been simple, this one had to be as well.

"The word of God, maybe it isn't the word of God," Harry whispered to himself. He was alone, but something about the place encouraged whispering. "Maybe there's an extra word. Maybe it's the word, God.

"The name of God, but what's God's name?"

_Jehovah._

Harry, sure in his translation, stepped on to the tile signifying the letter J. His foot fell through the thin layer of weak stone, cut on its sharp edge as he fell. Harry lunged backward, slamming into the floor, as he pulled his leg out of the newly opened pit. Below, he could see only empty darkness.

Sure he had been right, Harry feverously searched the diary, until he found what he was looking for. A translation guide. According to Hermione's neat text, Jehovah began with an I in the Latin alphabet.

Much more carefully, Harry tested his weight on the tile bearing I. It held. Slowly, carefully, Harry moved on to E-H-O-V-A, and then jumped to the floor awaiting beyond the tiles

Halfway done.

Encouraged by success, Harry followed the corridor onward. There it opened out into a massive space. He stood on a narrow outcropping, carved in the shape of a lion's head. Before him was a massive pit, dropping down into darkness, no bottom in sight. Opposite him, across the room, was an opening. Harry had no doubt that the Holy Grail rested within.

That only left the puzzle of how to get to it. Harry might have been able to conjure a way across, had he had his wand. But he didn't, and it would have been difficult magic regardless.

_The Path of God…only in an act of Faith shall he show his worth._

An act of faith. It's meaning was now obvious to Harry, he was meant to jump, the leap of faith. But it was at least twenty yards to the other side of the cavern, there was no way he could propel himself that far, no one could.

He could go back. He had gotten this far; surely Slughorn could make up the rest? But he knew he wouldn't. By then Hermione would be dead, if she wasn't already.

This was a challenge, like they others, and there was a way through it. He wouldn't be killing himself, no matter how much it felt like it. It was up to him now; he had to provide the act of faith.

Harry drew a deep breath, trying not to picture what was about to come. He lifted his right leg over the edge of the precipice, and fell forward.

Harry was almost expecting he would keep going to his death, so he was surprised when his leg met hard smooth stone. He stood, and looking down, it appeared as if he were standing in thin air, above a deadly drop.

It was now obvious. There was a simple stone bridge stretching across the gap. It had just been hidden by some ancient, and immensely strong, invisibility spell.

In better spirits, Harry crossed the bridge, trying not to look down. As he reached the other side, he saw a outcropping at hand level, filled with clean sand. It was obvious what its purpose was. Harry took and handful, and threw it back along the bridge, outlining its disguised shape for his return journey. He saw how narrow it was, it was a miracle he hadn't fallen off.

"If only Ginny could see me now," he murmured. And with that thought, he passed through into whatever lay beyond. Ahead, only the Cup of Christ, the power of healing.

Or so he thought.


	18. Chapter 18: The Choice

Chapter eighteen: the choice

Harry stepped out into a wash of bright light. He stood blinking at the sudden illumination. It came from torches set into the walls, at intervals. It was a round, low-ceilinged room. Harry barely had a chance to visualize his surroundings before the oldest man he had ever seen attacked him.

The man was slim, his flesh stretched across the bones of his face. His skin was the palest Harry had ever seen on a living being, including vampires. His beard was long and wild, so white it was almost transparent, and his eyes were a cool blue, and radiated intelligence.

He was dressed like a knight from the crusades, his head covered with a helm of chain mail, under a helmet that did little to hide his face. He wore a faded blue tunic over his armor, and emblazoned on his breast was a red cross, the symbol of the crusades.

In the knight's hand was a long, double-edged broadsword. It was this weapon that he swung at Harry in a wide arc. Harry ducked, and the sword rushed past high above his head, to hit the wall beside him in a clatter of metal on stone.

The knight turned to swing again, hoisting the sword over his head. But the heavy weapon proved too much for his aged frame, and he stumbled. The knight collapsed against the wall, breathing heavily. The ancient weapon clattered to the floor.

"I have waited…so long," the knight said, panting. His voice soft and rough from disuse. "For the one who would come. You have proved yourself worthy. You have passed the challenges, and you have vanquished me in combat."

The knight got slowly to his feet. He was tall, taller than Harry. He, and in fact the whole room, smelled of old parchment.

"You are strangely appareled, for a Knight. But you have proved your metal."

"I'm not a…" Harry began, and then stopped, realizing that, in a modern, magical way, he sort of was.

"I seek the Cup of Christ," he said. "Not for my glory, or even the fear of death, but to save the life of a friend, who lays dying, back in the entrance chamber." Harry tried his best to sound formal, choosing words he thought the knight would understand.

"A righteous quest," the knight nodded. "You must not waste time." He gestured to a side of the room Harry had not yet noticed. There were three long shelves, carved into the rock. And lining them were over a hundred cups. Goblets, decanters, flasks and mugs. Made of gold, and silver and crystal, arrayed with intricate engravings and precious stones. None were identical, all were priceless.

"There lies the prize you seek," spoke the knight. "But you must choose which cup you seek. The correct choice will bring eternal life, the wrong choice everlasting damnation."

"Hermione never wrote anything about this," Harry murmured, glancing over the shelves, contemplating a decision with no little anxiety.

"Sounds easy enough," came a good-natured bellow, and Harry's heart nearly stopped. Horace Slughorn strode into the chamber. Beside him Cho Chang, glancing around in amazement.

The knight turned to the newcomers, murder in his eye, but with a flick of his wand, Slughorn threw the old man against the wall, where he slumped, pale blood trickling down his face.

Harry rushed to the knight, helping the old man to his feet, where he tottered unsteadily. Slughorn strode past him, to stand in front of the array of cups.

"I'm no archeologist," he said, "and I haven't the foggiest idea which of these I want. Miss Chang, would you be so kind as to point me in the right direction?"

"I would be honored," said Cho quietly, as she looked toward Harry. He thought he glimpsed something in her gaze, repentance, and guilt.

Cho crossed to the shelves, and wasted no time in making her selection. A large gold, two-handled goblet, inset with emeralds.

"Ah," Slughorn took it, and sighed appreciatively. "Truly the cup of the king of kings."

Slughorn crossed to a trickling waterfall, running down the wall of the canyon. He took a moment to fill the goblet and then turned to look straight at Harry.

"To a new future," he said, and he drank deeply.

The goblet clattered to the floor, falling from Slughorn's hands, which had become to vibrate and jerk. His hair burst outward in a puff of wispy white as it lengthened. At the same time, his girth retreated, as his changing body absorbed the layer of fat.

Slughorn stared at his hand, the skin darkening, stretched against the bone, new liver spots forming. "What's happening to me?"

With a scream, the nearly unrecognizable potions professor threw himself at Harry, his bony fingers curled around Harry's neck. Harry could only watch as the skin covering Slughorn's face cracked and split, revealing the skull beneath, grinning obtrusively. As his flesh flaked away, Slughorn's eyes shrank back into his skull, withering. It was obvious that the man was dead, horrifically, irreversibly. But his bony fingers still curled around Harry's throat.

With a surge of effort, Harry shoved the skeleton away. It hit the stone floor and shattered. All that was left of Horace Slughorn was a pile of dust and clothing. Harry couldn't help but feeling regretful, Slughorn hadn't been a bad man exactly. He'd had the best of intentions, just the worst of tactics. He'd been no Vogol.

"You must make the choice alone," said the knight, evenly. "The maiden's choice was unwise, and he paid for it. Now, it is your turn, sir knight."

Harry approached the shelves, massaging his throat. His head was still ringing with Slughorn's terrible transformation. And if he made the wrong choice, that was the fate that awaited him.

Silently, Harry scanned the array of glasses. He tried not to think of the stakes that rested on his decision; it would only make it more difficult. All the cups, he realized, were similar, if not nearly identical. This was not meant to be impossible. The Holy Grail had to have something that set it apart.

Then he saw it. It was different, it was unique, and it was realistic. Harry reached past the beautiful decanters to the back of the shelf. The cup he drew out was not expensive or beautiful, but it was handmade. A goblet smoothly carved from brown wood, free of adornment and jewels. A simple cup, for the son of a carpenter.

Harry looked too the knight, hoping for approval. But he saw no encouragement or discouragement in the aged man's face. Realizing he would have to test it alone, Harry went to the small water source, and filled the goblet, swirling the water around inside it.

He was suddenly remembered of his sixth year at Hogwarts. A remote cave. A lake filled with dead rotting flesh. And Albus Dumbledore, lifting a crystal goblet, filled with a clear potion.

"Your health," said Harry, raising the goblet in a mock toast toward the old man.

Harry Potter drank from the Holy Grail.

The water was clean and pure and cool, and while it was definitely water, it was the most delicious, refreshing thing Harry had ever tasted. After the last drop had passed between his lips, a thin, pleasant tingling passed over his whole body, as if the cup power spread throughout his veins. Cleansing him, healing him. The bruises on his throat from Slughorn's grip faded. The skin stretched across his check, replacing what had been torn away on the tank tread. The cut from the female Death Eater's knife sealed itself. All the bumps and scrapes he had received over the last few days were gone, healed. He felt younger, stronger, better. It was not unlike the feeling that came after a drought of felix filicious, but the luck potion couldn't hold a candle to the way Harry felt now.

"Well chosen, young sir," said the knight, a smile tugging at his aged features. And he handed Harry a wand, he realized it was Slughorn's. The man would need it no longer.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, making it all the messier. "So who are you anyway?" he asked.

"I am the last of three brothers, who hid the Grail from the armies of darkness."

"But…you must have been here for like a thousand years."

"A long time to wait, even in the study of our savior."

"No kidding." Harry turned away to see Cho Chang; he had nearly forgotten she was here. She stood by the exit, leaning against the wall. Her arms were crossed across her chest, hugging herself, she suddenly appeared very small.

Harry had a wand on his hands, and he wanted to use it. He remembered her stabbing Hermione, walking over to join Vogol, begging him in Berlin. He wanted to make her pay, make her hurt, kill her, even.

Harry let the wand slip from his fingers, he couldn't do it. For every bad memory of her, there was a good. Dumbledore's army, kissing in the room of requirement, just barely, her choosing the cup for Slughorn, sealing his fate, the look in her eyes. There had been too much violence, to much pain, too much war, too much death.

"Let's go," he sighed. "Time's a wasting."

"Be warned," called the Grail knight, as they left the cavern, Cho following humbly. "The Grail cannot pass the seal of Christ. That is the price of eternal life."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Harry.


	19. Chapter 19: Grail

Chapter nineteen: Grail

Hermione Granger was dying.

She knew it too. She had little awareness of the world around her, of Neville and Ron watching over her, of the Death Eater waiting fitfully for Slughorn to return. She had felt pain as the knife had pierced her, impaled her, but now she felt nothing. No, that wasn't true. She was warm, cool, yet warm. She was comfortable, a safe, so very safe. She wanted to sleep, to close her eyes and drift away into emptiness and thoughtlessness and darkness. To rest, free from pain and stress and worry, and to never wake up.

Soon. Soon she would sleep. But not quite yet.

Hermione became faintly aware of some excitement around. Exclamations, interest. Though it took all her strength, she cracked her eyes open. Though the light burned into her retinas, she saw Harry Potter. He knelt above her, just the way she remembered him. The glasses, the scar, the messy hair, the green eyes, just like his mother's. No one looked quite like Harry.

Harry was smiling, and lifting something to her lips, a cup. Water ran down, both into her mouth and out over her cheeks. It was pure and sweet, but she made no effort to swallow it. Opening her eyes was difficult enough. Nevertheless, it slipped down her throat, and she was filled with tingling. Harry drew the cup away, and poured the rest across her wound.

She felt the knife wound heal. Broken flesh intertwining, skin weaving itself together, blood filling broken, drained veins, the poison flushed from her system. The world around her became clear. She was alive, more alive than she had ever been before. She could do anything, anything she wanted. There was a long life ahead of her, and she was going to make the most of every minute.

Harry stepped back as Hermione got to her feet. She was still a bit dizzy, and stumbled. But Ron was there; he caught her, his arm around her shoulders. Without thinking, she turned, and kissed him. It was not long as kisses went, but still not long enough for the participants, and far too long for the spectators. And really, isn't that the way kisses should be?

"You're welcome…" Ron spluttered as she pulled away, "But Harry got the Grail, I didn't do any-"

"You were there," she said, "that's enough. Besides, I never thanked you for saving me on the tank."

"So what about Slughorn?" Neville asked Harry.

"Dead," said Harry, numbly, "Let's not stick around…" he reached for the Grail, right where he had left it, and felt…nothing.

Harry straightened up to see Cho Chang half-sprinting, half tripping, away toward the exit, the Grail in her grasp. He had practically forgotten about her, and cursed himself for it.

"Wait," he shouted, "The seal…"

But it was too late; she had already crossed the great cross set into the floor. And as she passed it, a crack appeared, splitting it in half. The cracks spread across the cavern, which, with an almighty rumble, began to split apart.

So that's what it was. The final defense against the unrighteous. The whole antechamber was a death trap. And they were inside it.

"Run!" Harry screamed, already following his own instructions. His whole attention focused on the single exit. Nearby, the ground gave way beneath three of the frantic Death Eaters. The plunged into the dark abyss below, the whole temple had been built above some sort of fault line.

A large piece of masonry fell from the ceiling in front of Harry, nearly crushing him. As he rolled away from the wreckage, he watched Ron and Hermione, already far ahead of him, disappear through the exit into the inviting sunlight.

Harry ran for it, but the floor his was standing on began to fall away, tipping upward at a steep angle. Ahead of him, Cho fell, the grail rolling away from her. She screamed as she slid past him, scrabbling at the smooth stone. Without thinking, Harry dived. As Cho fell out over the darkness, he caught hold of her wrist. He held tightly, as she dangled over the massive drop into blackness.

"I've got you," he shouted over the sounds of rock splitting. He tried to pull her up, but she was dead weight, and too much for him. "Give me your other hand."

But Cho's eyes fell on the cup. The Holy Grail had fallen too, but it had caught, wedged into a ledge directly opposite her. She stretched, not toward Harry, but to the cup. Her fingers scrabbled in the air, only a few inches away. "I can reach it," she said, "Just a little more."

"But I can't hold you. Give me your other hand." Harry felt her writs slip through his sweaty fingers.

"I can't leave it, just a little farther," Cho made one last lunge for the cup of Christ. Her hand slipped out of Harry's grip, as her fingers brushed the cup. With a scream, Cho Chang plunged downward into the abyss, and was swallowed up.

Shocked, Harry turned away, he had to get out, and the floor beneath him lurched again, dropping a few feet. Harry fell back; he slammed into the stone, and over the edge, over the blackness. For a second it, seemed he would plunge, following Cho to her fate, and then a hand closed around his own.

He came to a jerking stop, his arm nearly torn from its socket. It was as though his situation had been reversed. Above, Neville lay on his stomach, both hands curled around Harry's left. Beside him, impossible close, Harry saw the Holy Grail, where it had been before. But he was closer, he could reach it, he could save it. He reached for it, but the Grail was a few inches from his fingertips.

"Harry!" Neville's shout caught Harry's attention. "I need your other hand. I can pull you up. Leave the Grail, we don't need it. Leave it."

Harry looked up into Neville's round face, strained with effort. He was risking his life to save his friend. And maybe, Harry thought, maybe that was the real power of Christ. Not healing, not immortality, but love. Love between family, like he had for his late godfather, love between friends, like he had for Ron, love between partners, like he had for Ginny.

Ginny. Whatever that Cup was, however important, or valuable, or powerful. It was nothing compared to real people, to life, to everything, good and bad.

"Harry," Neville whispered, still heard over the sounds of the temple's destruction.

"Leave it."

Harry grunted, wishing he could put his thoughts into words, and, straining, seized Neville's grip with his right hand. With a surge of strength, Neville pulled him up. As the temple gave way around them, Harry and Neville ran toward the exit. As they reached it, he looked back.

He saw the Knight standing at the far doorway, untouched by the destruction. His aged features were stretched in a peaceful smile, as the knight gave Harry a single, long bow. He had made the right decision. And then the rock tumbled down, and the knight was gone.

The sunlight hurt Harry's eyes. As he and Neville stumbled out into it, blinking, Ron and Hermione greeted them; Ron still had an arm around her, as if it was what he'd wanted to do for years. In Harry's opinion, it was.

"Cho's dead," he said, tiredly.

"So are all the Death Eaters, I think," said Ron. "None of them made it out."

"So is that really the last of them?" Neville questioned.

Harry shrugged. "Could be, then again, this is the third time I thought that."

"Wait, third?"

"It's a long story,"

"We've got nothing but time," Hermione gestured around her.

"I suppose," Harry sighed. "It all started around two years ago. I was in South America, looking for-"

"You are going to make such a good Auror office head," Neville sighed.

"Wait a moment," said Harry. "Head of the auror office? Me? But-"

"Hadn't you heard?" Hermione questioned. "It's all over the office. That old bloke is retiring soon, and everyone thinks they'll appoint you too take his place."

"But I can't, I'm too young, to start-"

"You've had plenty of experience," Neville pointed out.

"I guess so," said Harry, and they lapsed into silence.

"Sorry we didn't get anything, lost the grail and all," said Neville.

"Its fine," said Harry, "I don't think man is supposed to have that kind of power."

"I certainly got something," Hermione said, and Ron blushed.

"I'll be fine," said Neville, "Besides, they just offered me a teaching position at Hogwarts, what could be better than that?"

"I don't really want immortality anyway," Harry sighed, worried he might already have it. "I'd just become some kind of Voldemort. I just want to go home. I'm supposed to be on vacation. I need to get back to Ginny, and the baby, and-"

"Baby?" Neville interrupted again.

"Not born yet, but…"

"Congratulation's mate," Ron clapped Harry on the back.

"This is all well and good," said Hermione, "I do love small talk, but how are we going to get back?"

As if on cue a black, nearly skeletal horse melted out of the shadows. It approached her, unafraid, and spread its long wings as it lapped the dried blood of her shirt with a black tongue.

"Threstels," Harry laughed. He hadn't seen the carnivorous flying horses for years.

Hermione petted its head, "The sad thing is, I can see them now."

Harry knew how she felt. He had seen more than enough death over the last few days.

But, he reminded himself, the last crusade was over; and it was time to really start living.


End file.
